THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Charles  S.  Aiktft 


LIBRARY 

BWBSITY  OF  CA 
RIVERSfOF 


CHARLES  SEDGWICK  AIKEN 
EDNAH  AIKEN 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 


A  LITTLE  SISTER 
OF  DESTINY 


BY  GELETT   BURGESS 

Author  of  "Vwette" 


Boston  and  New  York 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company 
Ktoewtoe  press,  CamiriUje 
1906 


Copyright,  1905, 
By  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company 

Copyright,  1906, 
By  Gelett  Burgess 

Published  April  igob 


To  I.  H.  G. 

Romance  is  in  the  scabbard^  Adventure  in  the  blade  ; 
Before  the  sword  is  flourished  has  Fancy  all  essayed — 
The  moment  ere  I  met  her  abounded  like  a  dream  — 
Romance  is  in  the  shadow ',  Adventure  in  the  gleam  ! 


CONTENTS 

PROLOGUE        3 

I.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  PRIVATE  SECRETARY  7 

II.  SALLY  THE  SCROYLE 33 

III.  THE  WHAUP  AND  THE  WHIMBREL      .  71 

IV.  THE    MURDER  OF  M.  ELPHINSTONE     .  m 
V.  A  MIRACLE  IN  B-FLAT 143 

VI.  A  CHRISTMAS  CINDERELLA      .     .     .     .179 

VII.  NOT  TO  SPEAK  OF  CICELY     ....  205 

VIII.  THE  NEW  YORK  &  ARCADY  RAILROAD  239 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 


PROLOGUE 

I  HAVE  called  my  heroine  Miss  Million ,  for 
several  reasons.  First,  she  was  one  of  a  mil 
lion,  though  you  may  perhaps  say  that  one 
such  is  enough.  Second,  she  was  one  of  millions  — 
how  many,  precisely,  I  cant  say ;  ten  were  all  she 
owned  up  to.  She  had  been  left  the  sole  heiress  to 
so  rich  a  California  estate  that  I  might  call  her 
the  Princess  Tehema,  though  the  way  she  used  her 
fortune,  rather  than  its  amount,  justifies  that  title. 

Her  ranch  in  that  county  can  vie  with  any 
of  the  lesser  principalities  of  Europe  in  size  and 
revenue  and  semi-feudal  loyalty.  Her  wealth,  how 
ever,  did  not  come  alone  from  its  wheat,  cattle, 
sheep,  and  wines,  and  the  rentals  of  subdivisions 
themselves  big  enough  to  make  conspicuous  spots 
upon  the  map  of  California ;  for  a  half-dozen 
placer  mines  on  the  Sacramento  River  and  a  few 
railroads  were  also  under  her  control. 

But  my  third  reason  is  the  best  of  all.  I  dont 
care  to  have  her  real  name  known,  nor  would  she 
like  to  be  identified  as  the  heroine  of  these  tales, 
for,  so  far,  romance  has  been  possible  to  her  only 

[3] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

because  few  were  acquainted  with  her,  or,  knowing 
her,  were  aware  of  her  fortune  —  as  you  shall  see 
in  my  chronicles. 

So,  that  you  may  regard  them  as  pure  fiction, 
I  shall  relate  them  in  the  third  person,  patching 
together  what  I  saw,  what  she  told  me,  and  what 
I  found  out  afterward. 

She  herself  would  be  the  first  to  admit  to  the 
reproachful  sociologist  that  what  she  gave  away 
was  given  in  "  sentimental  charity"  But  I  like 
to  think  that  after  all  was  done,  it  was  not  the 
money  she  gave  that  was  most  valued,  but  that 
knowing  her  was  something  infinitely  more  pre 
cious,  something  long  to  be  remembered. 

Adventures  come  to  the  adventurous,  and  Miss 
Million  had  a  genius  for  Romance.  Her  spirit 
was  that  of  Mile,  de  Maupin,  but  her  quest  was 
not  altogether  selfish.  She  sought,  too,  Romance 
rather  than  Adventure  —  no  one  ever  knew  better 
the  fine  distinction  between  the  two,  no  one's 
imagination  ever  so  illumined  a  commonplace  situ 
ation  with  dramatic  potentialities. 

I  call  her  a  Little  Sister  of  Destiny  because  of 
a  sympathy,  a  talent,  and  a  will  that  enabled  her 
to  act  as  a  goddess  from  the  machine,  interposing 
her  love  to  defeat  Fate. 
[4] 


Prologue 

Never  was  a  man  so  gallant  towards  women  as 
she,  wherefore  it  is  always  another  woman  who 
is  the  nominal  heroine  of  these  tales  ;  yet  if  I 
give  but  glimpses  of  Miss  Million,  those  hints 
show  her  more  truly  in  mind  and  character  than 
if  I  set  her  in  the  centre  of  the  stage.  That,  in 
deed,  was  never  her  place  if  she  could  help  it ; 
she  was  a  sort  of  Stage  Director  where  "  all  the 
world's  a  stage"  and  part  playwright,  part 
prompter,  too. 

Enough  for  the  Prologue  :  let  me  raise  the  cur 
tain  upon  my  own  initiation. 

Miss  Million  was  in  New  Tork  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  —  she  knew  scarcely  any  one  save 
her  lawyers  —  she  was  young,  ardent,  fanciful, 
rich  —  and  it  was  spring.  There  'j  a  spirited 
orchestra  of  the  emotions  for  you  ! 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

AT  exactly  three  o'clock  Winton  Rayne 
lighted  a  cigarette.  The  green  shades 
had  been  drawn  down  in  the  windows 
of  the  front  door,  and  the  bank  was  closed.  A 
few  favored  customers,  arriving  in  a  hurry,  were 
admitted,  it  is  true,  but  the  official  discipline 
of  the  bank  was  relaxed.  Amongst  these  tardy 
arrivals,  Rayne,  checking  up  his  stubs,  noticed, 
with  leisurely  approval,  a  young  woman  clad 
in  gray,  who  loitered  for  a  moment  within  view 
of  his  window.  She  was  smartly  dressed,  but 
with  that  elegant  simplicity  which  appeals  most 
strongly  to  the  masculine  taste.  Her  hat  was 
one  smooth,  untrimmed  toque,  all  of  gray  breast 
feathers,  the  plunder  of  a  score  of  birds,  broken 
only  by  two  soft  creases  on  top.  Her  gloves 
and  shoes  were  gray  as  well,  and  in  her  hand 
she  carried  a  gray  suede  purse.  A  girdle  of 
dull  silver  completed  the  harmony.  Rayne, 
unfortunately,  could  not  make  out  her  face, 

[7] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

but  from  her  trim  figure  and  graceful  carriage 
it  promised  much. 

He  turned  to  his  accounts,  and  lost  sight  of 
her  in  the  search,  with  Briggs,  of  the  one  cent 
which  prevented  his  books  from  balancing.  This 
took  some  time.  It  was  nearly  four  before  he 
went  to  his  locker,  changed  his  thin  black  office 
jacket  for  his  street  coat,  found  his  stick,  and 
left  the  bank. 

It  was  a  clear,  balmy  spring  afternoon,  and 
the  prospect  of  a  walk  up  the  avenue  allured 
him.  There  was  nothing  on  his  mind  now  but 
the  glad  welcome  of  the  season  and  the  prospect 
of  three  hours'  enjoyment  of  its  friendliness. 
His  afternoon  and  his  evening  were  free,  and 
he  did  not  look  fifteen  minutes  ahead,  resolving 
to  embrace  any  whim  of  the  moment. 

He  was  crossing  Twenty-Third  Street  when 
a  red  automobile  shot  past  him.  He  watched 
it  elude  the  traffic,  skillfully  manoeuvre  across 
Broadway,  and  slow  down  by  the  monument 
beyond.  It  was  driven  by  a  woman,  who  was 
alone  in  the  vehicle.  It  took  but  a  second  glance 
to  assure  Rayne  that  she  was  the  lady  in  gray 
who  had  visited  the  bank.  He  increased  his 
pace. 

[8] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

When  he  reached  Twenty-Sixth  Street,  the 
machine  was  about  a  block  ahead  of  him,  but 
it  was  running  at  slow  speed.  He  saw  the 
chauffeuse  turn,  and  with  some  premonition  of 
good  fortune  he  hurried  forward.  Just  before 
reaching  Twenty-Eighth  Street,  the  car  drew 
up  to  the  curb  and  stopped,  but  its  occupant 
made  no  motion  to  descend.  Rayne  walked 
up  as  slowly  as  he  dared. 

Just  as  he  was  abreast  of  her,  trying  not  to 
stare,  the  young  woman  leaned  slightly  towards 
him  and  called  his  name.  He  halted,  in  some 
excitement,  and  raised  his  hat. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Rayne,  is  it  not  ? "  an  ex 
tremely  soft  and  pleasant  voice  inquired. 

"  Why,  yes  !  "  he  stammered. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  come  to  ride  ? "  she 
asked,  as  if  mimicking  some  teasing  child.  "  I  'm 
so  tired  of  going  about  alone." 

He  jumped  in  on  the  instant,  but  his  sur 
prise  was  too  great  for  him  to  find  words  with 
which  to  answer  her.  She  started  the  machine 
immediately,  and  they  sped  up  Fifth  Avenue. 

Her  face  was  so  whimsically  charming,  her 
manners  so  piquantly  demure,  that  for  some 
time  Rayne  could  not  emerge  from  his  wonder 

[9] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

and  embarrassment.  She  made  no  attempt  to 
help  him,  but  attended  with  a  prettily  business 
like  skill  to  the  direction  of  her  car.  Her  red 
lips  were  twitching,  however,  and  her  hazel  eyes 
danced  when  she  ventured  to  cast  a  second's 
look  at  him.  From  time  to  time,  as  he  kept 
his  silence,  her  delicate  black  brows  were  raised, 
and  fell  again.  As  they  came  into  Upper  Fifth 
Avenue  and  the  quiet  of  the  Park,  however, 
she  looked  him  mischievously  in  the  face. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  what  are  you  think- 
ing?" 

"  I  am  thinking  what  luck  I  'm  having,"  he 
answered,  "and  wondering  how  long  it  will 
last." 

"  During  good  behavior,"  she  replied,  smil 
ing  in  encouragement. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  be  good  —  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  be  too 
good!"  Rayne  gasped.  The  blood  was  singing 
in  his  veins. 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  she  commanded.  "  Don't  kill 
the  goose  that  laid  the  golden  egg  !  Are  n't  you 
wondering  why  you  're  chosen  for  my  compan 
ion  ?  " 

"  I  don't  dare,"  he  admitted,  "  for  fear  you  Ve 
been  deceived  in  some  way.  Don't  investigate 
[10] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

me  too  sharply.  I  'm  hoping  you  won't  find 
that  I  'm  a  mistake." 

She  laughed  merrily,  with  an  imp  in  her  eye 
that  entranced  him.  She  was  mistress  of  the 
situation,  and  it  was  futile  for  him  to  question 
himself  as  to  its  probable  meaning.  He  did  not 
care.  So  long  as  he  could  be  with  her  and  revel 
in  the  delight  of  that  fresh,  jubilant,  mischiev 
ous  face,  he  was  content  with  the  mystery.  So 
they  sped  on  gayly,  exchanging  nonsense  in  a 
quick  helter-skelter,  rattle-pated  dialogue,  she 
always  one  or  two  flashing,  smiling  jokes  in 
the  lead.  They  turned  into  the  Park  and  came 
back  towards  the  city  slowly.  She  stopped  her 
car  near  a  cross-path,  and  before  he  could  help 
her  she  had  leaped  lightly  out. 

"  Come  and  take  a  walk  !  "  she  commanded. 

Rayne  lost  no  time  following  her.  He  was 
cool  now,  and  master  of  himself,  though  eagerly 
curious  to  catch  some  hint  which  might  explain 
the  situation.  They  had  not  walked  far  before  his 
vivacious  entertainer  espied  a  vacant  bench  and 
sat  herself  on  it.  Rayne  followed  her  example. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  'm  mad,"  she  sug 
gested,  drawing  crosses  in  the  gravel  with  her 
toe. 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  I  think  I  must  be,"  he  replied.  "  It  cer 
tainly  does  n't  seem  real  life  to  me  !  " 

"  Confess  you  want  to  know  who  I  am  ?  " 
she  went  on. 

"  It   would  be  no  compliment  to  you  if  I 

did  n't,''  ne  said. 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  and  it  will  be  more  than 
half  true.  I  am  absolutely  my  own  mistress,  I 
am  rich  enough  not  to  have  to  be  conventional, 
old  enough  to  know  what  my  youth  is  worth, 
young  enough  to  believe  that  no  one  will  think 
ill  of  me  if  I  speak  my  mind,  as  honest  as  a 
woman  ever  dares  to  be,  and  an  inveterate  be 
liever  in  the  possible  romance  of  the  common 
place.  Oh,  dear !  just  look  at  that  funny  old 
man." 

Rayne  turned  his  eyes  and  saw  the  very  stage 
caricature  of  an  antiquated  German  approaching, 
reading  a  newspaper  as  he  walked.  He  held  it 
to  his  near-sighted  eyes  so  closely  that  he  could 
scarcely  see  where  he  was  going.  As  he  drew 
nearer,  he  stopped,  looked  about,  and,  making 
out  their  bench,  sat  down  upon  the  end,  taking 
off  his  hat  to  the  lady  beside  him.  Then  he 
removed  his  spectacles,  placed  them  in  a  case, 
and  put  them  down  beside  him.  From  a  paper 

[12] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

bag  in  his  pocket  he  drew  out  a  piece  of  bread, 
which  he  crumbed  and  scattered  upon  the  gravel 
for  the  sparrows. 

The  young  lady  in  gray  had  been  watching 
him  in  amusement.  She  turned,  now,  and  whis 
pered  to  Rayne,  "  Listen  !  I  Ve  got  the  old 
man's  spectacles  here  in  my  hand,  where  he 
can't  find  them.  Come  along,  we'll  walk  on 
and  leave  him,  and  see  what  he  does  when  he 
misses  them  ! "  As  she  spoke,  she  arose  and 
walked  swiftly  away.  In  an  instant  Rayne  was 
after  her.  He  had  turned  suddenly  red,  and  his 
hands  were  clenched  nervously. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  have  made  some  mistake," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  he  could  scarcely  control. 
"  I  am  not  the  person  you  were  looking  for.  I 
can't  see  such  a  practical  joke  played  on  any 
one,  least  of  all  such  a  poor  old  man  as  that. 
Surely  you  're  not  going  to  be  so  cruel !  Won't 
you  let  me  return  his  glasses  —  see,  he  's  look 
ing  for  them  now.  I  'm  sorry  to  seem  to  be  a 
prig,  but "  — 

"  Please  don't  say  another  word,"  said  his 
companion.  "  I  'm  ashamed  of  myself  already. 
Here  they  are — I  haven't  the  face  to  give 
them  back  myself.  But  wait  a  moment." 

['3] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

She  opened  her  gray  bag  and  took  a  bill  from 
her  purse.  Quick  as  were  her  motions,  Rayne's 
eyes,  sharpened  by  his  work  in  the  bank,  were 
quicker.  It  was  a  hundred-dollar  bill.  She 
caught  his  surprised  expression.  "  Really,  I 
have  nothing  smaller,"  she  said  apologetically, 
and  as  she  smiled  up  to  him  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  She  tucked  the  note  into  the  spec 
tacle-case,  and  waited  while  he  went  over  to  the 
old  man  and  returned  it.  Then  they  walked 
towards  her  car. 

"  I  'm  afraid  to  ask  you  what  I  was  going 
to  ask,"  she  said  archly.  "  But,  would  you  — 
do  you  think  you  'd  like  to  —  come  to  dinner 
with  me,  Mr.  Rayne  ? "  She  had  cast  down 
her  eyes  coquettishly.  "  I  want  to  be  amused, 
to-night,  and  —  and  —  there  are  other  reasons. 
You  may  come  as  you  are,  for  we'll  be  alone." 

"  c  Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead  ' ' 
—  he  began. 

"  All  right,  we  must  hurry,  then,"  she  said, 
"  for  though  it  is  n't  necessary  for  you  to  dress, 
it  is  for  me  !  " 

Just  before  they  reentered  the  automobile, 
she  stopped  again.    "  I  'm  going  to  be  silly  and 
melodramatic,"  she  announced.    "Are  you  will- 
[*4] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

ing  to  go  blindfold  till  we  get  to  my  apart 
ments  ?  "  Rayne  smiled  and  nodded.  "  Take 
these  smoked  glasses  and  put  the  goggles  over 
them,  then,"  she  said,  "  and  I  trust  to  your 
honor  to  keep  your  eyes  closed  until  we  are  at 
home." 

He  did  as  she  requested,  and  the  car  started. 
It  went  swiftly,  turned  several  corners,  and  at 
last  stopped.  The  girl  took  Rayne  by  the  arm 
and  helped  him  descend  to  the  sidewalk ;  then 
she  walked  him  up  a  few  steps,  across  a  marble 
hall.  He  felt  himself  rising  in  an  elevator. 

A  door  was  opened  and  shut,  and  they  had 
entered.  "  Look  !  "  she  said. 

He  saw  a  great  hall  furnished  in  the  most 
extravagaritly  complete  style  of  Indian  art. 
The  walls  were  entirely  covered  with  Navajo 
and  Hop"  blankets.  There  was  a  frieze  of 
Apache  hide-shields,  each  painted  with  a  brave's 
totem,  and  beneath,  a  solid  cornice  of  buffalo 
skulls.  Puma-skins  carpeted  the  floor;  at  least 
a  hundred  baskets  trimmed  with  partridge 
feathers  were  scattered  about;  trophies  of  In 
dian  bows,  arrows,  lances,  war-clubs,  toma 
hawks,  pipes,  and  knives  decorated  the  wall 
spaces.  Two  couches  were  made  up  of  Zuni 

C'5] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

bead-work  ornaments  and  buckskin  embroid 
eries.  In  spite  of  all  this,  it  was  a  tastefully 
designed  room,  rather  than  a  museum,  flaming 
with  color  and  vibrant  with  virility. 

Rayne  had  but  a  glance  about  before  he  was 
taken  into  a  reception-room  as  perfectly  if 
more  soberly  furnished. 

"  Now,"  said  his  hostess,  "  you  must  amuse 
yourself  for  half  an  hour,  while  I  get  ready. 
Look  at  anything  that  interests  you,  and  smoke, 
if  you  like,  provided  you  smoke  my  cigarettes 
—  I  can  endure  nothing  but  Spanish  tobacco." 
She  pointed  to  a  package  of  "  La  Justicias," 
and  bowing  mockingly,  left  the  room. 

Winton  Rayne  looked  about  him.  The 
room  was  purest  Colonial,  and  his  eye  ranged 
from  the  fine  Sheraton  sideboard  to  the  high 
boy,  the  Martha  Washington  work-table,  the 
Chippendale  chairs,  the  kidney-shaped  table, 
the  circular  concave  mirror,  the  goose-legged 
grandfather  chair,  the  tall  clock,  and  a  quaint 
bookcase,  with  fanciful  panes  making  odd  pat 
terns  in  its  doors.  This  was  filled  with  books ; 
it  might  give  some  clue.  He  ran  his  eyes  over 
the  titles  on  the  calfskin  backs,  —  "  The  Story 
of  Peter  Wilkins,"  "  The  Fourth  Dimension," 
[16] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

"  Essays  of  Montaigne,"  "  Memoirs  of  Casa 
nova,"  "  The  Life  Romance  of  an  Algebraist," 
"  Sylvie  and  Bruno,  Concluded,"  "  The  Song 
of  Hiawatha,"  "The  Shoes  That  Danced," 
"  Our  Mutual  Friend,"  —  what  could  one  make 
of  such  a  collection  as  that ! 

Then  he  turned  to  an  alluring  piece  of  fur 
niture  in  the  corner,  a  mahogany  secretary.  Its 
lid  was  let  down,  showing  two  rows  of  pigeon 
holes  and  drawers,  and  strewed  in  confusion 
upon  the  writing-pad  were  at  least  a  dozen  let 
ters.  He  cast  one  quick  look  and  turned  away, 
lest  he  should  permit  his  eye  to  be  too  in 
quisitive  with  the  addresses.  His  glance  was 
thoughtless,  but  he  congratulated  himself  that 
it  did  not  betray  the  name  he  would  have  liked 
so  much  to  know.  As  it  was,  either  the  en 
velopes  showed  only  their  backs,  or  had  their 
faces  sufficiently  covered  to  conceal  the  writing. 
He  sat  down  upon  a  huge  sofa  with  rolling 
swan-headed  sides,  and  took  up  a  book.  From 
time  to  time  he  cast  a  look  towards  the  secre 
tary,  but  he  did  not  move  from  his  seat. 

She  came  down  to  him  as  the  tall  clock, 
moon-dialed,  struck  seven.  She  came  in  as  still 
as  a  ghost,  luminous  with  jewels,  transcendent 

E'7] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

in  a  royally  simple  costume  of  white  lace.  He 
rose  and  gasped,  so  wonderfully  was  she  ar 
rayed,  as  if  in  mists  and  starlight.  She  cast 
down  her  eyes  in  roguery  and  awaited  his  com 
ment. 

He  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than 
drop  to  his  knee  in  the  old  manner,  and  kiss 
the  hand  which  she  outstretched.  Yet  it  was 
hard  to  play  up  to  the  romance  of  the  situation, 
and  he  found  himself  striving  above  all  things 
to  be  natural,  to  make  himself  worth  while  to 
her  who  had  so  graciously  honored  him.  She 
had  changed  subtly,  so  subtly  that  at  first  he 
thought  it  only  because  of  the  bewildering  ele 
gance  of  her  costume  that  she  seemed  a  trace 
more  remote.  But  he  soon  saw  it  was  not  that ; 
she  was  as  full  of  mischievous  smiles,  as  sweet 
in  her  trust  of  him,  but  she  was  receding  from 
that  familiarity  with  which  she  had  flattered  him 
by  daylight.  Yet  the  change  was  so  slight  as 
not  to  chill  his  ardor. 

Dinner  was  announced  by  a  maid,  and  the 
two  entered  the  dining-room.  It  was  so  large 
that  it  might  almost  be  called  a  hall,  but  the 
charm  of  a  smaller  apartment  was  preserved  by 
setting  the  table  on  a  raised  and  recessed  plat- 
[18] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

form  underneath  a  gallery  at  the  far  end.  This 
blazed  with  candles,  making  a  rich  spot  of 
color,  like  the  stage  of  a  theatre,  and  from  his 
seat  there  Rayne  could  look  down  into  the 
dusk  of  the  main  room,  with  its  rose  window 
in  the  end  wall.  It  was  all  like  a  dream,  —  the 
lights,  the  sparkling  crystal,  the  flash  of  gold 
plate,  the  vases  of  dewy  cyclamen ;  and  above 
all,  the  bewitching  curves  and  curls  and  smiles 
of  the  face  opposite  made  him  giddy.  He 
looked  away  to  the  shadowy  walls  below  him 
and  tried  to  steady  his  reason. 

They  talked  —  of  what,  Rayne  afterwards 
tried  vainly  to  recall.  They  laughed,  jested, 
drank  to  each  other  impromptu  toasts,  and  ate 
strange  dishes,  while  a  maid  in  Indian  costume 
came  and  went  continually.  From  some  con 
cealed  balcony  the  soft  music  of  stringed  in 
struments  rose  and  fell.  Rayne  lost  all  count 
of  time.  He  strove  to  lash  himself  into  some 
comprehension  of  his  dream,  but  it  grew  too 
much  for  him.  Had  they  been  for  a  moment 
alone,  he  would  have  demanded  some  explana 
tion  of  this  whim,  but  the  maid  was  always 
there.  Through  all  his  companion's  talk  and 
jesting  he  had  enough  delicacy  and  perception 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

to  perceive  that  she  was  not  to  be  questioned, 
and  that  she  was  to  set  the  pace,  not  he ;  and 
he  took  his  cue  from  her. 

So  the  dinner  went  on  from  wonderful  to 
still  more  wonderful  course,  and  his  mystery 
grew  deeper.  He  was  almost  afraid  of  her 
now;  it  was  almost  as  if  some  princess  had 
captured  him  and  was  entertaining  herself  with 
his  bewilderment,  only  to  turn  him  to  ridi 
cule  at  the  end.  Yet  this  girl  was  modern 
to  the  finger-tips  which  caressed  her  cigarette. 
Her  talk  was  terse  with  Western  idiom,  her 
smile  was  full-hearted,  her  eyes  steady  and 
sincere.  He  gave  it  all  up  a  hundred  hundred 
times. 

The  great  clock  in  the  dining-hall  struck 
eleven  as  his  vis-a-vis  sipped  the  last  drop  of 
her  Benedictine.  She  arose,  and  he  followed 
suit.  She  held  her  glass  for  scarcely  more  than 
three  drops,  and  extended  it  towards  his. 

"  To  the  romance  of  the  commonplace  !  "  she 
said.  They  drank  together. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  an  appoint 
ment  in  half  an  hour,"  she  added  ;  and  then, 
looking  at  him  frankly,  "  I  will  ask  you  to  give 
me  your  word  to  do  exactly  as  I  direct.  When 

[20] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

you  leave  this  house,  don't  look  back,  for  the 
name  is  lettered  on  the  transom,  and  don't  look 
at  any  other  houses  on  the  street  so  that  you 
can  identify  them.  Keep  your  eyes  shut  till 
your  cab  stops,  and  ask  no  questions.  Is  this 
requiring  too  much  of  you  ?  " 

Rayne  bowed,  and  with  less  affectation  than 
before,  he  took  her  hand  and  touched  it  to  his 
lips.  She  smiled  her  last  smile  at  him  from  the 
door  of  the  dining-hall,  and  then  disappeared. 
Rayne  waited  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  went 
out  by  the  same  way. 

He  was  met  in  the  Indian  hall  by  a  maid, 
who  handed  him  his  hat  and  stick,  saying, 
"  There  's  a  cab  waiting  below,  sir." 

He  left,  and  according  to  his  promise,  with 
no  effort  to  betray  her  confidence,  stepped  into 
his  cab,  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  driven  rapidly 
home. 

All  next  day  Rayne  nursed  his  dream.  He 
scarcely  spoke  to  his  fellows  at  the  bank,  con 
juring  their  silence  by  complaints  of  a  fictitious 
headache.  His  mind  was  busy,  going  and 
coming  like  an  ant  searching  for  its  home. 
But  there  was  no  clue  to  guide  his  action.  With 
just  what  was  his  honor  intrusted  ?  Was  it  the 

[21] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

better  part  to  await  some  new  invitation,  or  to 
seek  himself  an  answer  to  the  riddle  ?  His  reply 
did  not  come  till  evening. 

He  walked  up  the  avenue  at  four  o'clock,  as 
before,  but  there  was  no  gray  angel  to  guide 
him  to  Paradise.  He  went  home,  dressed,  and 
then,  too  unquiet  to  meet  the  talk  of  his  friends 
at  his  club,  walked  down  to  the  Martin,  and 
took  a  seat  alone.  The  place  was  full,  and  but 
for  a  friendly  waiter,  Rayne  could  not  have 
secured  a  table.  There  he  sat,  more  alone  than 
ever  in  the  bustling  crowd  of  strangers. 

He  was  looking  over  the  bill  of  fare  when  a 
man  of  affable  manner  and  easy  comfort  put  his 
hand  to  a  chair  opposite  where  Rayne  sat. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  sit  down  here?"  he 
asked.  "  There  's  no  other  place,  and  it  would 
be  a  great  favor  to  me." 

Rayne  nodded,  not  too  pleased  at  the  in 
terruption  of  his  reverie.  The  stranger  grew 
expansive.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  am 
about  to  commit  an  indiscretion  !  I  don't  know 
you,  and  I  'm  pretty  sure  you  don't  know  me. 
I  'm  from  San  Francisco,  on  my  first  trip  to 
New  York.  I  Ve  been  here  only  three  days, 
and  the  Heavens  have  opened  and  angels  de- 

[22] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

scended  already  !  Want  to  hear  a  corruscating 
tale  ?  I  suppose  I  would  n't  tell  it  to  my  own 
wife,  if  I  had  one,  but  you  are  a  stranger,  and 
it 's  just  as  if  I  was  telling  it  to  a  Martian.  I  've 
seen  a  few  fireworks  put  off  on  the  Pacific  slope, 
but  there  are  one  or  two  things  the  effete  East 
can  give  us  points  on.  Shall  I  tap  my  Arabian 
Nights  Entertainment  ?  " 

Rayne  had  become  interested  in  spite  of  him 
self.  "  Go  ahead,"  he  replied. 

"  Not  yet,"  remarked  the  Westerner.  "  Be 
fore  I  lift  the  curtain,  I  'd  like  to  gamble."  He 
drew  out  a  double  eagle  as  he  spoke.  "  I  lay  a 
twenty  on  this  table,  and  I  will  bet  you  even 
money  that  you  can't  match  my  fairy  tale  of 
real  life  with  one  of  your  own.  I  'm  prepared 
to  furnish  names  and  dates." 

The  humor  of  the  thing  pleased  Rayne.  He 
drew  forth  a  twenty-dollar  bill  and  placed  it 
beside  the  gold  piece. 

"  Here  it  is,  then,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  was 
walking  up  Fifth  Avenue  two  days  ago,  when 
a  girl  came  by  in  a  red  automobile.  What 's 
the  matter  ?  " 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Rayne. 

"  She  stopped  right  abreast  of  me  and  called 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

me  by  name.  Asked  me  if  I  wanted  a  ride. 
She  was  a  wizard  and  an  archduchess  for  looks, 
and  her  outfit  had  Redfern  sewed  into  a  sack. 
Well,  I  went  right  up  into  the  air.  You  can 
figure  pretty  close  to  what  I  said  ;  it  was  what 
an  Indian  famine  victim  would  say  if  you  asked 
him  if  he  wanted  a  chicken  pie.  What  the 
devil  are  you  staring  at  ?  Don't  you  believe  it  ? 
You  wait.  I  '11  give  you  the  girl's  name  and 
address,  by  jimminy  !  " 

Rayne  bit  his  cigarette  nearly  in  two,  but 
managed  to  say,  "  Never  mind  the  names,  go 
on.  I  am  a  bit  interested." 

"  Say,  I  did  n't  wake  up  for  some  few  hours, 
but  this  was  my  vision  of  delight.  We  rode  out 
the  Avenue,  stopping  at  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
Paradise,  Arcady,  and  way-stations.  I  was 
twenty-one  again,  and  God  was  in  his  Heaven, 
and  all  right  with  the  world.  We  had  some  con 
versation,  but  it  was  mostly  me  drinking  down 
smiles  that  did  for  me  worse  than  Manhattan 
cocktails,  and  watching  two  eyes  twinkling  like 
electric  light  on  a  glass  of  champagne.  I  'm  no 
poet,  but  I  could  bust  a  hole  in  all  the  blank 
verse  Shakespeare  ever  wrote  if  it  would  do 
any  good  in  describing  my  queen.  But  that 's 
[24] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

only  half.  She  took  me  home  to  dinner,  into 
a  palace  of  gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones 
that  made  the  St.  Regis  look  like  a  dug-out. 
And  all  this,  mind  you,  not  by  the  Empress  of 
the  Bowery  or  a  blonded  Actorine  out  for  press 
stories,  but  a  Venus  de  Milo,  who  's  too  good 
for  any  Four  Hundred  the  Angel  Gabriel  could 
round  up.  And  then  —  what  d'  you  think  ? 
The  bottom  fell  out  of  the  clouds  1  was  traveling 
on,  and  I  was  hustled  out  into  the  night.  And 
that 's  all.  Stranger,  I  ask  you,  as  one  Christian 
gentleman  to  another,  does  this  sort  of  thing 
happen  often,  or  did  I  imbibe  some  new  knock 
out  drop  with  my  morning  meal  ?  Can  you 
match  this  melodrama,  my  young  friend?  If 
so,  you  can  have  the  twenty ! " 

"  You  say  you  know  her  name,  and  where 
she  lives  ?  "  Rayne  inquired  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  've  got  it  here,  somewhere,"  the 
stranger  said,  fumbling  with  a  huge  wallet. 
"Would  n't  you  like  to  go  up  against  that 
pipe-dream  ?  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Rayne  wearily.  "  Take 
your  twenty ;  I  'm  afraid  that 's  too  good  a 
story  for  me  to  beat.  And  you  '11  pardon  me 
if  I  leave,  won't  you  ?  " 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"Why,  you  have  n't  eaten  dinner  yet!  "  the 
other  exclaimed. 

"  I  don't  care  for  any  dinner,"  Rayne  re 
plied,  and  taking  his  hat  he  walked  miserably 
home. 

In  the  next  Sunday's  "  Herald  "  the  follow 
ing  "  Personal  "  appeared :  — 

AUTOMOBILE  :  Will  my  chauffeuse  and  hostess  of 
last  Tuesday  permit  me  to  see  her  and  ask  an  ex 
planation  of  her  fantastic  kindness  ?  If  so,  address 
BANK. 

And  two  days  afterwards,  Rayne  received  this 
note,  written  upon   blue  paper  with  a  curious 
incomprehensible  engraved  crest,  or  seal :  — 
"  /  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,  if  you  can  find  me." 
With  this  consent  to  his  search,  he  began 
his  investigations.    His  impression  had  always 
been  that  the  unknown's  apartment  house  was 
one   of  the   line  of  stone,  Byzantine-fronted 
buildings  on  58th  Street,  east  of  Fifth  Avenue, 
but  they  were  too  much  alike  for  him  to  iden 
tify  the  particular  one  he  had  visited.    He  cast 
aside  at  once  the  idea  of  putting  a  detective 
upon  the  girl's  track,  and  began  to  attempt  to 
trace  her  himself. 
[26] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

He  dined  at  the  Martin  every  night,  in 
hopes  of  meeting  the  Californian  again,  but 
sight  of  the  stranger  was  not  vouchsafed  him. 
He  visited  every  large  stationer  in  town,  hoping 
to  identify  the  crest  stamped  upon  his  letter, 
but  it  was  unknown.  He  visited  dealers  in 
curiosities,  hoping  to  find  the  customer  who  had 
bought  Indian  relics,  but  no  news  came  from 
this. 

He  was  entering  his  cheques  one  day  at  the 
bank,  when  he  came  across  one  which  caught 
his  eye  like  the  waving  of  a  flag.  At  first  he 
scarcely  knew  why,  and  looked  at  the  oblong 
piece  of  paper  as  if  hypnotized.  It  was  drawn 
for  six  hundred  and  sixty-six  dollars  and  sixty- 
six  cents,  —  that  alone  was  enough  to  give  him 
pause,  —  but  it  was  not  the  amount,  it  was  the 
queer,  fat  little  letters,  with  their  painfully  slow 
and  accurate  downstrokes,  their  round  "  o's," 
and  heavily  dotted  "  i's."  In  a  flash  he  remem 
bered  —  it  was  the  writing  he  had  seen  in  the 
letter  from  his  unknown.  He  looked  eagerly 
at  the  name,  "Margaret  Million." 

It  was  indorsed  by  a  well-known  customer 
of  the  bank,  a  ladies'  tailor,  and  that  noon 
Rayne  paid  her  a  visit. 

[27] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  Miss  Million  ?  "  she  said,  smiling  indul 
gently.  "  Oh,  yes,  she  's  at  the  Mendocino,  on 
Fifty-Seventh  Street,  Mr.  Rayne.  I  've  just 
sent  up  a  love  of  a  crepe  de  chine  I  " 

At  three  o'clock  Rayne  was  on  his  way,  at 
half  past  he  found  the  place.  He  entered  the 
lower  hall  —  yes,  the  same  walls  of  marbles  of 
variegated  hues,  which  he  had  mentally  com 
pared  to  castile  and  colored  toilet  soaps,  the 
same  negro  boy  in  the  elevator,  the  same 
heavy,  mahogany,  nameless  door  to  the  flat. 
He  rang.  The  same  Indian  maid  came  to  the 
door. 

She  showed  him  in  without  surprise,  and  he 
entered  the  Colonial  drawing-room,  wondering 
now  what  he  should  say.  The  story  of  the 
stranger  from  California  had  all  but  disillu 
sioned  him,  and  yet  he  could  not  forget  the 
entrancing  impressions  he  had '  formed  of  the 
gay  and  lovable  girl  who  had  intoxicated  him 
with  romance.  He  had  had  time  to  think  of 
the  incident  of  the  old  man's  spectacles,  too, 
and  had  thought  of  it  with  a  pang.  Surely  she 
was  a  creature  of  inconsistencies.  And  then  in 
another  moment  she  was  there  !  Every  doubt 
of  her  fell  away,  dispelled  by  the  frankness  of 
[28] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

her  smile  and  the  steady  glance  of  those  hazel 
eyes.  He  went  to  her  and  kissed  her  hand, 
repledging  his  homage. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said, 
and  seated  herself  by  him.  "  I  was  afraid  for 
a  while  that  I  had  made  it  too  hard  for  you, 
but  you  have  won.  I  suppose  you  have  come 
to  ask  me  questions,  to  get  some  explanation 
of  all  that  has  happened  ?  But  let  me  speak 
first  —  for  I  am  ready  to  tell  you  everything." 

He  would  have  stopped  her,  for  it  seemed 
so  base  to  suspect  her  of  anything  common  or 
flippant  that  he  was  already  ashamed ;  but  she 
went  on  without  waiting. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  New  York,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  intend  to  remain  so.  I  am  hungry  for 
life,  for  romance  of  the  better  sort,  for  know 
ledge  of  human  nature,  for  a  chance  to  help 
out,  sometimes,  in  ways  that  are  not  usually 
taken.  For  all  this  it  is  necessary  that  I  should 
have  assistance,  and  it  is  you  that  I  have  se 
lected.  You  are  not  the  first  one  that  I  have 
tried,  however.  I  have  been  terribly  disap 
pointed.  One  has  violated  my  confidence,  and 
I  am  afraid  to  think  what  you  will  have  thought 
of  me ;  I  mean  the  Californian  who  met  you 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

at  the  Cafe  Martin.  How  you  treated  him  I 
know  also,  and  I  give  you  my  hand  in  thanks 
for  your  consideration." 

"  You  know  —  that,  too  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  know  everything !  It  was  not  exactly  a 
trap  I  laid  for  you,  for  chance  came  to  my  as 
sistance  ;  but  I  found  out  much  that  I  wanted 
to  know  about  you.  To  resume :  I  need  a  pri 
vate  secretary.  I  need  a  man,  moreover,  who 
has  manners,  honor,  kindness,  and  cleverness. 
When  I  reached  New  York,  I  went  to  my  law 
yer  to  find  such  a  man,  and  of  the  five  recom 
mended  to  me,  you  alone  have  possessed  these 
four  requirements.  It  took  but  a  few  minutes 
to  make  sure  that  your  manners  were  above 
reproach.  Your  kindness  I  proved  to  my  sat 
isfaction,  although  at  the  temporary  loss  of  my 
own  self-respect,  by  that  deliberate  trick  on  the 
old  man  in  the  Park.  Your  honor  was  proved 
by  the  fact  that  you  did  not  attempt  to  find 
out  by  unfair  means  where  I  lived,  and  your 
shrewdness  was  shown  by  your  instant  recog 
nition  of  the  writing  on  the  cheque  that  I  made 
sure  would  pass  through  your  hands.  Mr. 
Rayne,  for  all  these  tests  I  beg  your  pardon. 
When  you  know  me  better,  I  am  sure  that  you 
[30] 


The  Story  of  the  Private  Secretary 

will  understand  my  nature,  and  forgive  the  way 
I  made  myself  certain." 

"And  now,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  for 
the  first  time  to  his,  "will  you  act  as  my  pri 
vate  secretary  and  confidential  agent,  at  any 
salary  you  care  to  name  ?  " 

No  one  ever  refused  a  request  accompanied 
by  such  a  glance  as  that.  At  least,  Mr.  Rayne 
did  not. 


II 

Sally,   The  Scroyle 

I  HAD  not  long  been  in  Miss  Million's  em 
ploy  when  the  following  adventure  took  place. 
In  sorting  her  newspaper  clippings  (she  had 
hundreds,  which  it  was  my  business  to  classify 
and  index) ,  /  came  upon  many  relating  to  the  stage, 
and  in  especial  to  the  lives  and  habits  of  the 
lesser  known  actors  and  actresses.  Amongst  her 
notes,  too,  were  many  comments,  speculations,  and 
queries  as  to  the  life  behind  the  scenes. 

I  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  when  one  day 
she  asked  me  for  information  about  New  Tork 
theatres,  and  set  me  to  find  out  systematically  (as 
a  detective  bureau  might  do  it)  all  that  I  could 
concerning  the  several  Stage  Managers  in  town. 

After  I  had  prepared  this  information,  she  told 
me  that  she  was  to  be  away  from  her  apartments 
for  an  indefinite  period,  leaving  her  half-caste 
maid,  Hachewa,  in  charge.  'The  address  she  gave 
me  was  that  of  a  lodging-house  on  West  Forty- 
Third  Street,  where,  however,  I  was  forbidden 

[33] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

to  communicate  with  her,  except  upon  important, 
urgent  business,  or  when  I  was  sent  for. 

Meanwhile,  I  was  to  have  an  eye  on  her  apart 
ments,  see  that  all  meals  were  served  as  usual, 
whether  she  appeared  or  not,  and  to  attend  to  the 
regular  routine  of  my  work  as  confidential  agent 
for  her  ranch  in  California.  I  was  also  in  abso 
lute  charge  of  her  bank  account,  which  at  this 
time  amounted,  in  New  Tork,  to  seven  millions. 

During  the  two  months  which  Miss  Million 
was  away,  I  was  called  upon  to  assist  her  several 
times,  and  my  fart  in  the  following  story  will  be 
sufficiently  evident  from  the  narrative. 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

THE  stage  director  of  the  McCabe 
Theatre  had  come  downtown  early, 
and  was  in  a  mood  for  hard  work. 
He  was  alert  and  observing,  wherefore  the  two 
young  women  waiting  in  the  hallway  caught  his 
eye,  and  he  estimated  their  professional  use  to 
him  in  a  glance. 

"  Who  are  those  two  girls  out  there  ? "  he 
asked  of  his  secretary,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated 
at  his  desk. 

"Looking  for  a  job,"  said  the  secretary. 
"  One  has  a  letter  from  Hastings  ;  the  other 's 
traveling  on  her  face,  I  think." 

"  Bring  in  the  one  with  the  letter,"  said  Mr. 
Toland. 

She  came  in  a  moment — a  slight,  wiry,  blonde 
girl  with  a  deal  of  character  in  her  face,  but 
scant  of  obvious  beauty.  Her  violet  eyes  were 
steady  and  full  of  will,  without  being  at  all  hard. 
Her  hair  was  Romanesque,  full  of  virility.  She 
handed  Mr.  Toland  a  note,  which  he  looked 

[35] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

over  carelessly.   Then  he  gave  her  a  deliberate 
stare  that  was  not  wholly  impolite. 

"  I  think  I  can  give  you  a  small  part,  if  you 
care  to  take  it,"  he  said.  "It  is  n't  much,  but 
it 's  a  chance.  I  Ve  been  looking  for  some  one 
of  your  style.  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

She  narrated  her  experience  in  a  few  business 
like  words. 

"  We  begin  to  rehearse  on  Monday,"  said 
Mr.  Toland.  "  Come  round  at  nine  sharp. 
Show  in  the  other  one  !  "  he  added  to  his  sec 
retary. 

The  other  one  was  a  type  better  suited  to 
Mr.  Toland's  personal  preference,  and,  without 
betraying  any  of  the  mannerisms  of  the  profes 
sional,  had  a  "presence"  that  caught  the  Stage 
Director's  fancy.  She  showed  inexperience  but 
not  shyness  in  her  manner,  and  was  clad  in 
a  gown  of  gray  and  red  that,  as  an  expert  in 
costume,  Mr.  Toland  thoroughly  approved. 
There  was  a  merry  light  in  the  girl's  eyes,  and 
a  dimple  in  her  cheek  that  came  and  went, 
calling  attention  to  a  rare  complexion.  Her  fig 
ure  was  gracile  enough  to  prevent  its  seeming 
voluptuous,  and  her  hands  were  remarkably 
fine,  showing  caste  and  cleverness. 
[36] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  could  give  me  a  place 
in  your  company,  Mr.  Toland,"  she  began. 
"  But  I  have  no  experience  and  no  introduc 
tion.  I 'd  be  willing  to  do  anything  —  almost 
—  except  wear  tights." 

"  We  're  not  putting  on  a  spectacle,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "  What  makes  you  want  to  go  on 
the  stage  ?  It 's  a  hard  life,  and  it 's  discour 
aging.  There  are  plenty  of  better  things  to  do. 
Why  do  you  think  you  can  act  ?  " 

"Only  because  I  want  to,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,"  he  said  good-naturedly,  "  I  '11  spare 
you  the  customary  advice,  for  as  a  matter  of 
fact  I  can  use  you.  I  have  been  wanting  two 
women  of  certain  types  very  much,  and  have 
been  wondering  where  I  'd  find  them.  Miss 
Hepburn  and  you  happen  to  just  fill  the  bill, 
so  you  may  consider  yourself  engaged.  What 
name  shall  I  put  down  ?  " 

"  Sally  Hope,  please,"  answered  the  new  ac 
tress. 

She  left  him  and  passed  down  the  hall. 
Miss  Hepburn  was  standing  by  the  outer 
door. 

"  I  got  a  position  !  "  Sally  exclaimed  frankly. 

Miss  Hepburn  turned  to  her,  smiling  with 

[37] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

a  friendly  look.  I  'm  so  glad  you  did  !  I  was 
hoping  you  'd  get  in  the  company  when  I  first 
saw  you,  for  I  knew  I  'd  like  you." 

"  My  name  is  Sally  Hope ;  yours,  Miss 
Hepburn,  I  know  already.  It 's  nice  of  you 
to  like  me,  for  I  feel  the  same  way  about 
you.  But  I  'm  afraid  of  you,  for  you  've  acted 
before,  and  I  Ve  never  even  gone  on,  except  in 
amateur  theatricals." 

"  Oh,  it 's  easy  enough,  the  beginning,"  said 
Miss  Hepburn.  "It's  the  getting  your  head 
above  water,  getting  out  of  the  crowd,  that's 
hard.  I  'm  always  hoping  I  'm  going  to  do  it, 
but  it  never  comes.  You  see,  I  take  my  art 
pretty  seriously." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Sally,  "  but  I  think  it 's  great 
fun." 

"  You  won't  get  anywhere  if  you  're  not  in 
earnest,"  said  Miss  Hepburn. 

"  I  'm  in  earnest  about  wanting  to  get  a  good 
place  to  board  and  room,  at  any  rate.  It 's  hor 
ribly  expensive  at  my  hotel.  Do  you  know  of 
any  place  to  live  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  come  up  to  my  boarding- 
house  ?  It 's  on  West  Forty-Third  Street,  and 
it 's  very  convenient  and  very  cheap.  There  's 
[38] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

a  room  side  of  mine,  and  we  might  share  the 
big  one  together.  Do  !  " 

"  I  believe  I  will !  "  said  Sally.  "  You  give 
me  the  address,  and  I  '11  move  in  this  after 
noon." 

"  Oh,  you  'd  better  see  it  first,"  was  Miss 
Hepburn's  cautious  advice. 

"  Nonsense,  I  've  confidence  in  you  !  "  was 
the  answer,  and  after  a  few  moments  of  talk 
she  left  the  theatre. 

At  five  she  appeared  with  her  trunk,  in  a 
cab,  at  which  extravagance  Miss  Hepburn 
gravely  reproved  her.  "  Why,  I  did  n't  know 
any  other  way  of  getting  my  box  up  !  "  said 
Sally. 

She  noticed  that  Miss  Hepburn  was  differ 
ently  dressed.  At  the  manager's  office  she  had 
flowered  out  in  a  brave  attempt  at  style,  though 
Sally  had  observed  several  inconsistencies  in 
the  effect.  There  was  no  such  pretense  now. 
The  girl  had  on  a  faded  French  flannel  shirt 
waist  and  short  skirt,  both  in  a  rather  pitiful 
condition  of  wear.  The  lines  showed  a  little 
plainer  in  her  face,  too,  and  she  looked  worn 
and  tired. 

"  Let 's  come  out  and  have  dinner,  before  I 

[39] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

unpack,"  Sally  suggested.    "  I  saw  a  restaurant 
near  here,  on  the  avenue.    Have  you  tried  it  ?  " 

"  You  must  have  money  in  the  bank  !  "  said 
Miss  Hepburn.  "I  have  n't  eaten  in  a  restau 
rant  for  two  months  ! " 

"  Why,  where  in  the  world  do  you  eat  ?  " 

"  Here  in  the  room,  of  course.  I  '11  show 
you.  I  can  make  tea  over  the  gas,  and  we  '11 
have  some  crackers  and  sardines." 

"Oh,  I  say  !  let 's  really  eat  to-night.  I  Ve 
got  fifty  dollars !  "  said  Sally. 

"  *  Powdered  pigs'  bones  and  rhubarb  glis 
ters!'"  cried  Miss  Hepburn.  "Why,  you're 
a  millionaire !  Wherever  did  you  get  that 
much  money  ?  And  to  think  of  your  getting 
a  position  the  first  time  you  tried  !  " 

"  Did  n't  you  ?  " 

Miss  Hepburn  smiled.  "  I  '11  accept  one 
dinner,  just  for  to-night,  to  celebrate,  and  then 
I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  see  you  're  an  inno 
cent.  Fifty  dollars  !  c  O,  thou  shalt  lie  in  a  bed 
stuffed  with  turtle's  feathers  and  swoon  in  per 
fumed  linen,  like  the  fellow  was  smothered  in 
roses ! '  " 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  "  Sally 
asked  in  wonder. 
[40] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 


"  Oh,  you  must  n't  mind  me,  dear,"  was  the 
reply.  "  I  'm  simply  daft  about  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists.  I  Ve  managed  to  save  my  c  Mer 
maid  '  edition,  and  I  Ve  read  them  so  much  I 
have  them  all  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue.  If  you 
hear  me  say  anything  particularly  crazy,  like 
f  nng-galliard,'  it 's  only  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
or  John  Webster." 

"  I  guess  I  am  innocent,"  Sally  remarked. 
"  I  Ve  never  even  heard  of  them." 

"  They  invented  the  English  language  — 
almost,"  said  Miss  Hepburn  succinctly.  "It 's 
my  mania.  My  highest  ideal  is  to  revive  '  The 
Duchess  of  Malfi.'  Wait  till  you  read  it ! " 
She  struck  a  noble  attitude  and  declaimed,  — 

"'Shoot  me  to  death  with  pearls — cut  my  throat 
with  diamonds !  '  '  and  then  with  a  histrionic 
scorn,  — 

"  *  Pshaw  !  Tour  pistols  hold  nothing  but  per 
fumes  and  kissing  comfits  ! '  But  are  n't  you 
going  to  change  your  clothes,  first,  though  ? " 

"  Why,  no,"  Sally  said  ;  "  I  think  this  suit 
will  do,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Is  it  really  yours  ?  "  Miss  Hepburn  whis 
pered,  and  then  blushed  furiously.  "  Oh,  I  for 
got  you  had  money,"  she  added.  "  You  see,  I 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

borrowed  all  the  clothes  I  could  get,  so  I  could 
present  a  good  appearance  to  Mr.  Toland. 
He  thinks  a  lot  of  dress.  I  have  n't  a  thing 
of  my  own  I  dared  to  wear  ! " 

"  You  poor  dear  !  But  I  don't  think  you  '11 
need  rubbers,"  said  Sally,  seeing  Miss  Hep 
burn  struggle  with  them. 

Miss  Hepburn  turned  pink  again.  "It  looks 
like  rain,"  she  suggested.  Then  she  turned  an 
embarrassed  face  to  Sally.  "  I  have  n't  been 
able  to  afford  new  shoes,  Sally,  and  these  are 
worn  right  through  the  soles.  I  Ve  had  to  wear 
rubbers  for  three  weeks  !  Oh,  you  don't  know ! 
I  hope  you  '11  never  know,  dear,  what  it  is  to 
be  up  against  it  in  little  old  New  York.  Never 
mind,  we  've  got  an  engagement  at  last !  Fif 
teen  a  week,  Sally,  think  of  that!  It's  opu 
lence  !  *  I  feel  a  stark,  affrighted  motion  in 
my  blood '  just  to  think  of  it.  That 's  from 
'  The  Maid's  Tragedy  '  —  I  came  pretty  near 
to  having  one  myself!  f A  kind  of  healthful 
joy  wanders  in  me  ! '  Same  play.  Come  on, 
let 's  eat !  Then  we  '11  talk  and  talk  and  talk, 
Sally  ;  you  '11  talk,  too  —  <  I  '11  ne'er  believe 
a  silent  woman ;  when  they  break  out  they 
are  bonfires  ! '  -  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  my 
[42] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

dear ;  you  '11  get  used  to  my  rigmarole,  after  a 
while." 

Emily  Hepburn  had  an  intense,  determined 
way  of  talking  that  compelled  attention.  At 
dinner  she  kept  Sally  amused  at  her  advice,  for 
she  had  had  sufficient  experience  on  the  stage 
to  know  what  to  expect. 

"  You  must  n't  mind  what  actresses  say,  for 
they  're  mostly  all  cats,"  said  Emily.  "  Cats 
is  n't  exactly  the  word,  either  —  I  call  them 
f  scroyles.'  Scroyle  is  Elizabethan,  of  course, 
f  rare  old  Ben  Jonson's  '  pet  word,  I  think  — 
oh,  he  was  the  boy  for  invective  !  —  and  it 
can't  be  translated.  I  do  hope  you  won't  be  a 
scroyle,  Sally.  They  laugh  at  you  if  you  scat 
ter  your  powder,  and  they  guy  your  make-up, 
and  they  lie  about  when  rehearsals  are  called, 
so  you  '11  be  late,  and  they  wheedle  the  stage 
manager,  or  try  to.  I  try  not  to  be  a  scroyle, 
but  it 's  awfully  hard,  when  all  the  others  are." 

"  What  are  you,  then  ?  "  Sally  asked. 

"  '  She  's  a  delicate  dab-chick,  I  must  have 
her  ! '  —  that's  what  I  try  to  be.  You  '11  find 
it  in  c  The  Alchemist,'  if  you  look." 

"  I  'm  sure  you  're  a  dab-chick,  Emily,"  said 
Sally. 

[43] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  And  now,"  Emily  began,  after  dinner  was 
done,  "if  you  want  to  hear  it,  I  '11  tell  you  what 
you  escaped.  I  came  to  New  York  two  years 
ago  with  a  letter  to  a  star,  and  got  a  place  right 
away.  But  she  fell  ill  in  two  months,  the  piece 
closed,  and  from  that  day  to  this  I  have  n't  had 
a  position  for  more  than  two  weeks  at  a  time. 
I  've  tried  everything,  vaudeville  even,  and  gone 
to  manager  after  manager,  and  been  thrown  down 
everywhere.  My  money  gave  out  early  in  the 
game,  and  then  I  really  don't  know  what  I 
didn't  try.  I  studied  shorthand  and  typewrit 
ing,  and  got  a  place,  but  I  simply  couldn't  give 
up  acting.  I  'd  rather  fail  on  the  stage  than 
succeed  anywhere  else.  I  Ve  worked  in  a  res 
taurant  (the  only  time  I  ever  have  had  really 
enough  food  in  two  years),  but  I  left  that  to  try 
for  a  place  in  Boston.  I  Ve  been  a  telephone 
girl  and  a  parlor  maid,  and  tried  reporting,  and 
worked  in  a  dentist's  office.  In  between,  I  Ve 
tried  and  tried  and  tried,  sometimes  succeeding 
in  getting  on  for  a  week  or  so,  and  then  some 
thing  would  always  happen.  The  last  two 
months  have  been  the  worst,  though.  I  could  n't 
get  anything  to  do,  and  I  Ve  read  in  the  library 
till  my  eyes  ached,  and  then,  just  to  keep  my- 
[44] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

self  from  going  crazy,  I  used  to  go  into  depart 
ment  stores  and  try  on  cloaks  and  wraps  and 
things,  and  pretend  I  could  n't  be  suited.  But 
I  never  once  admitted  the  possibility  of  giving 
it  all  up.  Meanwhile,  I've  read  every  play  1 
could  get  hold  of,  and  I  could  go  on  in  any 
Shakespearian  production  at  a  day's  notice,  I 
think.  I  've  read  up  costume  and  history  be 
sides,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  myself  when  I  did 
get  a  chance.  And  now  I  'm  going  on  at  the 
McCabe  as  *  extra  woman ' !  Is  n't  it  ridiculous  ? 
But  I  don't  care,  if  I  've  got  it  in  me,  it'll  come 
out,  sooner  or  later.  Look  at  the  way  Duse 
suffered !  I  have  n't  gone  through  half  what 
she  did.  f  Hell,  to  her  affliction  was  mere  snow 
water,'  if  you  '11  allow  me  to  misquote  '  The 
White  Devil.'  There  's  only  one  thing  I  need, 
and  that 's  fencing.  I  don't  know  how  to  fence, 
and  it  might  be  necessary.  I  can  dance  a  little 
already,  and  sing  fairly  well." 

Emily  Hepburn's  lessons  in  economy  were 
received  with  interest  by  her  prot'eg'ee,  for  Sally 
was  consistently  extravagant  in  everything.  As 
she  was  well  equipped  with  clothes,  and  the  two 
girls  were  of  about  the  same  size,  she  insisted 
upon  sharing  her  wardrobe  with  Emily,  at  least 

[45] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

until  their  salaries  should  commence.  In  return 
Emily  coached  her  in  season  and  out  of  season 
for  her  first  appearance. 

The  first  "  reading  through  "  of  the  play  and 
assignment  of  parts  was  exciting  for  a  novice, 
though  the  girls  had  scarcely  more  than  a  line 
or  two  apiece.  Emily,  after  the  rehearsal,  in 
sisted  upon  reading  her  lines  over  and  over  to 
Sally,  with  an  earnestness  that  amused  the 
beginner. 

The  rehearsals  progressed,  and  Sally  soon 
lost  her  timidity  in  her  study  of  stage-land  and 
the  stage-folk.  Easily  first  in  her  notice  was 
Mr.  Walter  Blackfield,  the  "juvenile  lead." 

He  was  young,  and  in  his  way  as  enthusias 
tic  as  Emily  Hepburn.  He  had  a  bright,  boy 
ish  face,  with  a  square,  nicked  chin,  and  curly 
black  hair.  His  habitual  expression  was  a  frown, 
almost  threatening,  but  of  a  sudden,  after  a 
direct  stare,  his  face  would  crinkle  into  a  smile 
so  abandoned  and  hearty,  that  it  was  almost  a 
match  for  Sally's,  when  she  half  closed  her  eyes 
and  dimpled  into  gleefulness. 

Chance  threw  the  two  together  in  the  wings, 
one  day,  after  a  long,  tedious  siege  of  rehearsal, 
decidedly  trying  to  Mr.  Toland.  The  stage 
[46] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

director  had  just  vented  his  temper  on  the 
juvenile  lead. 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Walter  Blackfield  to  Sally, 
"  he  's  a  rogue,  a  foist,  a  hodmontod,  an  iper,  a 
trindle-tale,  a  dogfish,  leech,  caterpillar,  a  pum- 
pion,  and  a  pernicious,  petticoat  prince  !  " 

Sally  smiled  up  at  him  and  remarked,  "  He 's 
a  scroyle,  too,  is  n't  he  ?  " 

He  gave  her  a  frowning  glance,  then  his  face 
exploded  in  a  smile.  "  What  do  you  know  about 
scroyles,  Miss  Hope?  "  he  demanded  in  sur 
prise. 

"  I  think  I  am  one,"  she  replied. 

At  this  moment  he  was  called  on  the  stage, 
and  Sally  saw  no  more  of  him  that  day.  But 
after  the  girls  got  home,  Emily  said,  — 

"  D'  you  know,  I  rather  like  Mr.  Blackfield  ; 
I  think  he  can  act.  I  'd  like  to  play  opposite 
him.  He  would  n't  do  tricks,  I  'm  sure.  Did 
you  see  how  Mr.  Dowey  has  been  acting  ?  You 
watch  him  on  the  first  night,  and  see  if  in  that 
scene  with  Miss  Max  in  the  second  act  he 
does  n't  get  up  stage  and  force  her  to  turn  her 
back  on  the  audience,  so  he  '11  get  the  benefit 
of  all  his  lines  while  she 's  eclipsed.  He 's  a 
scroyle,  all  right !  But  Blackfield  is  a  gentle- 

[47] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

man.  I  'm  sure  he  has  talent,  and  he  '11  go  far. 
Oh,  dear  !  <  He  has  a  tongue  will  tame  tempests 
and  make  the  wild  rocks  wanton  ! '  —  f  Two 
Noble  Kinsmen,'  Sally;  you  certainly  ought 
to  read  it !  " 

•  •••••*• 

The  opening  night  had  passed  successfully 
enough  with  its  suspense,  its  hysteria,  its  ner 
vous  strain,  and  the  piece  was  fairly  launched, 
when  Mr.  Toland,  breathing  freer,  called  for 
an  "  understudy  rehearsal "  to  assign  the  parts. 
Emily  Hepburn  was  anxious.  While  Sally  had 
been  enjoying  herself  behind  the  scenes,  talk 
ing  with  every  one,  from  the  scene-shifters  and 
firemen  to  the  star  (for  few  could  resist  her, 
and  rules  were  lax  at  the  McCabe),  Emily  had 
used  her  ears  and  her  eyes  well,  watching  every 
piece  of  business  and  the  reading  of  every  line, 
critical  of  everything.  With  Sally's  help  she 
had  made  out  a  fair  costume  from  odds  and 
ends  of  her  room-mate's  wardrobe  ;  but  Sally 
herself,  trim  and  elegant,  had  made  a  much 
better  impression.  It  was  a  wonder  to  Emily 
how  Sally,  willing  to  take  such  a  poor  position, 
could  afford  such  gowns,  but  Sally  had  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  explain  her  circum- 
[48] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

stances.  Many  things  about  Sally  worried  her 
friend  —  her  frivolity,  her  apparent  selfishness, 
her  constant  refusal  to  take  her  art  seriously, 
and  the  hopelessness  of  her  capacity.  Yet 
every  one  seemed  to  like  the  girl,  and  Emily 
herself  liked  her  more  and  more,  despite  her 
faults.  This  affection,  however,  was  in  great 
danger  when  the  understudy  parts  were  given 
out. 

Mr.  Toland  was  no  exception  to  the  rest  in 
his  liking  for  Sally  Hope,  and  Sally  was  quick 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  In  the  understudy 
cast,  both  Emily  Hepburn  and  Sally  Hope 
were  given  the  ingenue's  part.  He  looked  up, 
as  he  read  the  list,  and  Sally  said  calmly, — 

"  Of  course  I  'm  to  be  first  understudy,  Mr. 
Toland  ?  You  know  I  can  dress  the  part  and 
wear  my  clothes,  though  I  have  n't  so  much 
experience  as  Miss  Hepburn." 

Mr.  Toland  nodded. 

Emily  took  this  calmly  enough,  though  the 
blow  hurt  her. 

After  the  rehearsals  began,  she  said,  "  Sally, 
I  Ve  been  watching  Miss  Max  pretty  sharply, 
and  I  can  see  a  good  many  places  where  it  could 
be  improved.  She  could  make  a  lot  more  of 

[49] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

that  business  with  the  handkerchief,  and  several 
times  she  turns  her  head  at  the  wrong  time,  so 
as  to  spoil  the  laugh  she  ought  to  get.  When 
we  get  home,  I  '11  show  you." 

She  went  over  the  part,  which  they  both 
knew  well,  and  explained  her  improvements. 
The  next  morning,  at  the  rehearsal  of  the  un 
derstudies,  when  her  time  came,  Sally  boldly 
adopted  these  changes. 

"Why,  that's  bully,  Miss  Hope!"  Mr. 
Toland  exclaimed;  "where  did  you  get  that 
idea  ? " 

"  Oh,  it  just  came  to  me,  in  thinking  it  over," 
said  Sally. 

"  It 's  all  right;  I  '11  suggest  it  to  Miss  Max," 
said  the  stage  director. 

"  Sally,  you  're  a  scroyle,  I  'm  afraid,"  said 
Emily,  as  they  went  home. 

Sally  smiled  and  made  no  reply. 

This  was  as  far  as  Emily  went,  no  matter 
what  temptation  she  had  to  protest.  She  per 
mitted  Sally  to  use  more  than  her  share  of  the 
dressing-room  they  occupied  together,  lent  her 
make-up,  and  cleared  her  litter  away,  indul 
gently  accepting  all  Sally's  impositions  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Harder  to  forgive  was  Sally's 
[50] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

overt  flirtation  with  Mr.  Blackfield,  who  by  this 
time  had  progressed  considerably  in  familiarity. 
Emily  felt  a  sense  of  responsibility  in  regard  to 
her  friend,  and  feared  many  things  she  dared 
not  suggest. 

One  afternoon  Mr.  Blackfield's  card  was 
brought  up  to  her  room  in  the  boarding-house. 
As  the  girls  used  the  larger  room  for  a  sitting- 
room,  she  sent  for  the  gentleman  to  come  up. 

"  I  'm  sorry  Miss  Hope  is  n't  in,  this  after 
noon,  Mr.  Blackfield,"  she  said,  "  but  she  said 
she  had  to  go  over  to  Brooklyn." 

"  That 's  funny,"  he  answered  ;  "  she  said 
particularly  that  she  'd  be  at  home,  and  asked 
me  to  call." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,  perhaps  she  '11  come  in. 
Won't  you  wait  awhile  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  I  will.  But  I  'm  afraid  she  is  a 
scroyle ! " 

Miss  Hepburn  sat  up,  suddenly  attentive. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  that 's  only  one  of  her  words,  Miss 
Hepburn;  no  insult  intended.  For  my  part,  I 
consider  her  a  { delicate  dab-chick.' ' 

Emily  Hepburn  became  intense,  and  when 
she  was  intense,  she  was  quite  another  person. 

[5'] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Mr.  Blackfield  took  his  turn  at  being  surprised 
at  her  manner  now,  when  she  said,  "  Tou  know 
«  The  Alchemist '  ?  " 

"  Well,  rather  I  "  was  the  hearty  response, 
and  his  frown  of  bewilderment  changed  to  his 
compelling  smile.  "  Shall  I  { spit  out  secrets 
like  hot  custard,'  my  *  smock  rampant'  ?" 

"  You !  Tou  !  "  was  all  she  could  say.  "  And 
poor  Sally !  Has  she  been  trying  Elizabethan 
quotations  on  you?  f  Though  she  had  practiced 
seven  years  in  the  pest-house,  she  could  not 
have  done  quaintlier ' !  " 

"  *  I  feel  a  stark  affrighted  motion  in  my 
blood,'  "  he  went  on,  taking  up  her  quotation. 
"  I  knew  she  had  them  all  second-hand,  you 
may  be  sure.  So  you 're  the  real,  original  Eliz 
abethan  enthusiast,  are  you  ?  '  You,  my  most 
neat  and  cunning  orator,  whose  tongue  is  quick 
silver  ?  '  Ah,  'green  goose,  you  're  now  in  sip 
pets  '  !  " 

"Mr.  Blackfield,"  said  Emily,  in  a  mock 
tragic  humor,  cwere  all  the  gods  in  parliament, 
I  'd  burst  their  silence  with  my  importunity  ! ' 
I  did  n't  know  any  one  but  professors  and  stu 
dents  ever  read  Webster  nowadays  !  Will  you 
play  Ferdinand  to  my  Duchess  of  Malfi  ?  " 
[52] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

" '  O  excellent  hyena/  I  will  !  "  was  his  en 
thusiastic  reply. 

And  at  that  rate  the  conversation  was  main 
tained  with  Elizabethan  enthusiasm  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  till  Sally  appeared  with  pink  cheeks 
and  a  smile. 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  two  would  get  on  all 
right  alone,"  was  all  the  explanation  she  con 
descended  to  offer.  Emily's  reproaches,  how 
ever,  were  mild,  and  even  Mr.  Blackfield  did 
not  seem  unforgivably  disappointed. 

He  called  often  after  that,  and  usually  Sally 
was  away. 

One  day  Emily  came  to  her  radiant.  "  What 
d' you  think?"  she  exclaimed.  "To-day  I  had 
a  call  from  a  professor  of  fencing,  who  offered 
to  give  me  a  course  of  lessons  free !  He  said 
he  's  a  stranger  in  the  city,  and  wants  to  intro 
duce  himself  that  way.  But  I  find  he  's  very 
well  known  indeed ;  in  fact,  he  's  the  best  in 
New  York.  What  d'  you  suppose  it  means, 
anyway  ? " 

"  I  should  n't  worry  about  that.  If  he  wants 
you  so  much,  I  'd  let  him  teach  me.  You 
said  you  wanted  to  learn,  did  n't  you  ? "  said 
Sally. 

[53] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  I  wish  he  would  take  you!  "  said  Emily. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  fence  !  It 's  as  stupid 
as  Ben  Jonson  to  me  !  " 

"  Sally !  How  can  you  !  Why,  Mr.  Black- 
field  and  I  read  the  whole  of '  Volpone '  yester 
day.  It 's  lovely !  How  any  one  can  bear  those 
stupid  mechanical  obvious  old  comedies  like 
fShe  Stoops  to  Conquer,'  I  don't  see." 

"  I  suppose  if  I  were  in  love,  I  would  en 
joy  reading  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  said 
Sally,  and  Emily  blushed  fiercely. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  added  carelessly,  "  how 
would  you  dress  Dulcie's  part,  if  you  were 
going  to  costume  it?  I  don't  like  Miss  Max's 
gown,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No  —  it 's  something  fearful !  "  said  Emily. 
"  What  I  'd  like,  in  the  ball  scene,  would  be  an 
Adrienne  Lecouvreur  costume,  of  silver  cloth 
studded  with  turquoises,  with  a  tunic  of  the  same 
material  and  a  long  train  of  silver  lace  embroid 
ered  with  turquoise  and  lined  with  silver.  Then 
I  'd  have  a  crown  of  turquoises  and  pearls  and 
a  necklace,  and  wear  my  hair  in  two  braids  fall 
ing  in  front,  entwined  with  turquoises.  But  I 
suppose  Mr.  Toland  would  have  something 
to  say  about  that !  f  She  came  in  like  starlight, 
[54] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

hid  in  jewels  ! '  That 's  a  good  description  of 
my  idea  of  a  costume  —  by  the  Ben  Jonson 
whom  you  think  is  so  stupid."  She  went  off 
into  a  reverie  at  the  fancy. 

It  happened  that  not  long  after,  Mr.  Black- 
field  called,  and  finding  Emily  away,  came  up 
to  have  a  little  talk  with  Sally.  He  too  was 
full  of  enthusiasm  for  his  profession,  as  earnest 
as  Emily  herself,  and  his  boyish  ardor  was  quite 
delightful  to  Sally.  This  time  he  was  all  serious 
ness,  and  his  frown  did  not  for  a  time  disap 
pear.  Finally,  after  some  innocuous  talk,  he 
ventured :  — 

"  I  say,  Miss  Hope,  don't  you  think  you 
could  improve  your  part  a  little  if  you  should 
play  up  a  bit  more  ?  You  know,  in  that  charac 
ter  you  're  supposed  to  have  no  end  of  money. 
Now  you  act  only  just  your  natural  self,  and 
no  one  would  ever  suppose  you  had  a  cent  to 
your  name.  You  ought  to  show  it  more.  Of 
course  your  natural  self  is  charming,  but  life 
is  n't  art.  You  ought  to  think  of  it." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  Sally  admitted. 
"  How  do  rich  people  behave,  anyway  ?  Of 
course,  on  a  salary  of  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  I 
can't  very  well  know,  you  know." 

[55] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  I  can't  describe  it  exactly,  but  if  you  should 
watch  the  people  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  driv 
ing  in  the  Park,  you  'd  see  what  I  mean.  I  saw 
a  girl  in  a  red  automobile  the  other  day  who 
reminded  me  of  you  a  good  deal  —  if  you  could 
only  get  her  manner  ! " 

"  But  there  's  one  other  thing  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you  about,"  he  added.  "You  won't 
mind,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,  silly  ! "  said  Sally.  "  What 
is  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  are  n't  you  a  little  bit  unkind  and 
inconsiderate  with  Emily  ?  "  he  asked  fearfully. 
"  She  has  never  said  a  word  to  me,  but  it  does 
seem  as  if  you  were  a  little  selfish  sometimes. 
What  d'  you  think  about  it  yourself?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  Sally  admitted.  "  But 
how  can  you  tell  whether  people  are  really  worth 
while  or  not  until  you  Ve  tried  them  ?  Now  I 
happen  to  know,  by  this  time,  that  Emily  's 
solid  gold,  but  if  I  had  n't  sometimes  been 
mean  and  horrid,  I  'd  never  be  sure.  Emily  's 
a  gentleman,  that 's  what  she  is." 

"  And  what  are  you,  then  ?  "  he  said.  "  Sup 
pose  she  should  try  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  a  scroyle  !  I  'm  selfish,  I  know, 
[56] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

but  I  Ve  learned  a  lot  by  it.  Do  you  think 
Emily  will  ever  make  an  actress  ?  " 

"  An  actress  !  Why,  she  '11  go  clear  to  the  top, 
don't  you  feel  certain  of  that  ?  What  a  great 
actress  needs  is  simply  intelligence.  It 's  the 
hardest  thing  to  find  there  is.  Emily  has  got 
that,  and  she  is  capable  of  hard  work,  too.  I 
never  saw  any  one  so  in  earnest.  If  you  'd  only 
take  a  lesson  from  her  and  not  fritter  away  your 
time  having  fun  and  foolishness,  and  observe 
things  a  little  closer,  you  'd  be  an  actress  your 
self.  But  you  're  a  scatter-brain,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  am,  Mr.  Blackfield  ;  I  can't 
take  it  a  bit  seriously.  Everything  and  every 
body  amuses  me  too  much." 

"That's  just  it!  You're  too  amused.  If 
you  'd  only  use  your  brains  more  —  you  surely 
have  brains.  Why,  only  the  other  day  I  heard 
you  laughing  at  Papa  Holden's  clothes  —  he 
was  terribly  hurt.  But  what  d'  you  think  ?  He 
told  me  last  night  that  he  had  had  sent  him  three 
whole  new  suits  of  clothes  besides  a  dress  suit ! 
He  has  n't  the  least  idea  where  they  all  came 
from,  but  he  's  kept  the  stage  door  for  so  long 
that  no  doubt  some  actor  that 's  made  good  has 
remembered  him.  He  's  as  pleased  as  Punch  ! 

[57] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

You  won't  have  a  chance  to  laugh  at  him  any 
more,  at  any  rate  !  " 

"  Poor  old  Papa !  I  'm  glad  for  him,"  said 
Sally,  "  but  I  'm  always  sorry  to  lose  a  laugh. 
I  '11  be  sorry  when  I  have  to  stop  laughing  at 
you,  Mr.  Blackfield." 

"  Why  should  you  laugh  at  me,  please  ? " 
he  inquired. 

"  Why  not  ?  Are  n't  you  in  love  with 
Emily  ? " 

" '  I  do  love  that  witch  very  constrainedly/  ' 
he  quoted. 

"  And  you  don't  know  that  your  photograph 
is  in  her  mirror  —  the  only  one  there  ?  " 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  is  it,  now  ?  " 

"  Go  in  and  see ! "  said  Sally.  "  Being  a 
scroyle,  I  don't  at  all  mind  giving  her  away." 

He  ventured  in,  and  came  back  with  his  frown 
deepened.  "  *  O,  thou  abominable,  loathsome 
gargarism  ' !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  was  n't  mine 
at  all !  It  was  another  man's  !  " 

Sally  laughed.  "  That  will  pay  you  for  your 
vanity,  sir  ! "  she  said,  "  and  if  you  're  wise,  it 
will  give  you  a  valuable  tip.  I  advise  you  to 
hurry  up !  " 

•  ••••••• 

[58] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

The  play  had  run  only  three  weeks,  when, 
one  afternoon  about  two  o'clock,  a  messenger 
appeared  at  the  boarding-house  with  a  note 
from  Mr.  Toland  to  Miss  Sally  Hope,  inform 
ing  her  that  Miss  Max  had  met  with  a  severe 
accident,  which  would  prevent  her  playing  her 
part  for  some  days.  Miss  Hope  was  to  come 
downtown  at  four  and  go  over  the  part  with 
the  Stage  Director  before  dinner,  so  that  he 
could  see  that  she  was  able  to  play  it  that 
night. 

Sally  sat  down  and  wrote  two  letters,  sent 
them  off  by  the  boy,  and  then  showed  Mr. 
Toland's  message  to  Emily.  Both  girls  had,  of 
course,  understudied  the  part  and  were  com 
petent  to  take  it,  but  though  Miss  Hepburn's 
talent  was  indubitably  greater,  Sally's  air  and 
popularity  had  won.  Emily  was  as  interested, 
however,  as  if  the  summons  had  come  for  her. 
She  congratulated  Sally  warmly,  and  there  was 
no  hypocrisy  evident  in  her  tone. 

"  Now,  Sally,"  she  went  on,  "  you  must 
make  a  hit  to-night,  and  I  'm  going  to  show 
you  how.  I  've  studied  that  part  till  I  know 
every  possibility  in  it,  and  there  are  loads  of 
ways  you  can  improve  on  it.  It's  the  chance 

[59] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

of  a  lifetime;  and  think  of  it,  you  're  really  only 
an  amateur !  Oh,  I  do  hope  you  '11  make  good 
—  of  course  you  will,  for  every  one  loves  to 
watch  you,  whatever  you  do  !  Now  sit  down, 
and  I  '11  go  over  the  whole  thing  with  you,  and 
show  you  just  what  can  be  done." 

For  two  hours  the  two  girls  studied  together, 
and  all  Emily's  hints  were  illuminating.  She 
grew  excited,  far  more  than  did  Sally,  at  the 
prospect  of  the  evening's  success.  The  enthu 
siasm  of  it  sent  the  color  to  her  cheeks,  and 
when  she  stood  up  and  explained  the  fine  points 
of  the  ingenue's  business,  she  threw  her  whole 
heart  into  the  endeavor.  Sally  attempted  again 
and  again  to  stop  her,  and  showed  a  lack  of 
interest  that  shocked  her  room-mate.  Finally, 
when  Sally  gave  up  the  study  rather  languidly, 
making  slight  pretense  of  her  boredom,  Emily 
broke  down  and  burst  into  tears.  Sally  turned 
then,  with  her  brows  uplifted. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter,  Emily  ? "  she 
said. 

"You  have  such  a  chance!"  the  girl  wept, 

"  a  chance  that  any  girl  would  give  a  year's 

salary  to  have  !    You  can  get  your  head  above 

water  to-night,  perhaps  become  famous  !    Many 

[60] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

a  woman  has  been,  from  just  such  a  fortunate 
accident  as  this  !  There  may  be  managers  there 
to-night  who  '11  see  you.  You  may  be  given  a 
better  part  in  the  next  play,  at  least !  Oh,  and 
you  don't  half  appreciate  it.  You  don't  care 
for  your  art  enough  even  to  make  an  effort  to 
try!  You  might  go  on  and  carry  the  whole 
thing  with  you !  If  you  only  cared !  If  you 
only  had  enthusiasm!  " 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  Emily,  you  take  things  too 
seriously,"  Sally  replied.  "  I  '11  do  my  best 
to-night,  don't  you  worry  about  it.  You  '11  see  ! 
I  '11  play  up  !  I  have  some  ideas  of  my  own 
I  've  had  up  my  sleeve,  and  they  '11  make  a  hit, 
even  with  you  ;  you  see  if  they  don't!  " 

And  she  went  off  downtown  to  see  Mr. 
Toland. 

She  came  back  in  high  spirits,  full  of  a  sup 
pressed  excitement.  But  she  would  not  talk, 
her  one  expostulatory  remark  being  a  quotation 
from  "  The  Maid's  Tragedy,"  which  she  had 
caught  from  Emily. 

"  *  This  is  no  place  to  brabble  in,'  Emily. 
Please  don't  make  me  brabble,  for  I  don't  feel 
like  it !  You  '11  be  satisfied  when  the  time 
comes,  dear!  " 

[61] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

At  half  past  six  the  two  started  out  together 
for  the  theatre,  but  before  they  had  walked  a 
block  Sally  stopped  and  said  :  — 

"  Oh,  Emily,  I  forgot  to  take  my  watch  ! 
I  'm  going  to  run  back  and  get  it.  You  need  n't 
wait  for  me." 

"  But  the  idea,  Sally!"  Emily  pro  tested;  "you 
must  n't  run  any  risk  of  being  late  to-night. 
Let  me  go,  won't  you,  if  you  must  have  it  ?  " 

"  No,  you  run  along.  I  '11  take  a  cab  if  neces 
sary,"  Sally  said  decidedly,  and  turned  back 
without  waiting  to  discuss  the  matter  further. 

Emily  walked  on.  She  paused  to  bid  Papa 
Holden  a  good-evening,  and  he  asked  her,  — 

"Where's  Miss  Hope?  Mr.  Toland  has 
been  howling  for  her  !  " 

"Oh,  she'll  be  right  along,"  said  Emily. 
"  She  just  went  back  for  a  moment." 

The  doorkeeper  shook  his  head  mournfully. 
"  You  ought  to  have  that  part,  Miss  Hepburn. 
You  could  make  a  big  thing  out  of  it !  " 

"  I  hope  Sally  will,"  was  her  reply. 

She  passed  up  to  the  little  dressing-room  and 
began  to  take  off  her  things.    Fifteen  minutes 
went  by  —  twenty.    Then  came  a  peremptory 
knock  at  the  door.    Mr.  Toland  appeared. 
[62] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

"  Has  n't  Miss  Hope  turned  up  yet  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

Emily,  anxious  herself  by  this  time,  explained 
all  she  knew. 

"  Well,  I  '11  give  her  ten  minutes  more  !  " 
he  said. 

It  was  already  half  past  seven.  For  the  first 
time  the  thought  came  to  Emily  what  Sally's 
absence  might  mean  to  herself.  She  stifled  the 
hope  it  brought,  hated  herself  for  the  envy  of 
it,  and  waited. 

Mr.  Toland  appeared  again,  a  messenger  with 
a  huge  box  behind  him. 

"  You  '11  go  on  and  take  the  part,  Miss  Hep 
burn  !  I  've  waited  as  long  as  I  can.  Hurry 
up,  and  I  '11  have  Miss  Max's  costume  sent  in 
here,  and  the  wardrobe  woman  will  do  what  she 
can  for  you.  Hello,  what 's  this  ?  "  He  turned 
angrily  to  the  boy. 

"  A  package  for  Miss  Hepburn,"  said  the 
boy. 

In  an  instant,  Miss  Hepburn  understood. 
How  or  why,  she  did  not  know,  nor  did  she 
attempt  any  explanation  to  herself,  but  as  she 
tore  open  the  package,  she  was  sure  what  it 
would  contain,  Beneath  the  tissue  paper  lay 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

the  costume  she  had  described,  all  silver  and 
turquoise,  sparkling  in  the  light.  Under  this, 
in  a  leather  case,  shimmering  on  a  velvet  bed, 
were  the  crown  and  necklace,  the  latter  a  river 
of  pearls  breaking  into  pools  of  dull  blue  gems. 
There  was  no  card,  no  note,  no  explanation  of 
any  kind.  But  Miss  Hepburn  had  scant  time 
for  wonder.  All  this  splendor  was  for  the  end 
of  the  play.  She  put  down  the  dress  as  one 
might  lay  a  baby  to  rest,  and  dressed  in  a  fever 
for  the  first  act. 

She  went  down  to  the  stage  with  her  head 
swimming,  and  attempted  to  listen  to  Mr. 
Toland's  final  instructions,  though  her  mind 
was  dizzy  with  the  surprise  of  her  fortune.  She 
rallied,  however,  to  meet  Mr.  Blackfield. 

"  Oh,  is  n't  it  bully  !  "  he  cried  wildly.  "  By 
Jove,  you  look  like  the  '  White  Devil '  to-night, 
Emily  !  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  going  on  instead 
of  that  little  scroyle  of  a  Sally  ! " 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Walter !  "  she  pleaded. 
"She's  not!  I'm  sure  she's  not!  There's 
something  so  mysterious  about  all  this  that  I 
can't  think  straight  —  but  I  have  a  sort  of  a 
glimmering  of  an  idea  —  and  it's  going  to  be  a 
big  surprise,  somehow.  I  can't  explain,  I  'm  too 

[64] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

confused."  She  turned  to  him  as  if  in  a  daze, 
and  added,  <£<  Is  not  this  a  fantastic  house  we 
are  in,  and  all  we  do  a  dream  '  ? " 

"  Why,  you  're  not  afraid,  are  you,  Emily  ? 
You  won't  lose  your  nerve,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  yes,  of  something  too  good  to 
be  true,  Walter.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  lose 
my  nerve  —  I  'm  going  to  get  my  head  above 
water ;  and  d'  you  know,  I  'm  sure  Sally  's 
helping  me." 

"  I  wish  she  'd  help  me  a  bit,"  he  murmured. 

She  shot  a  quick  glance  at  him.  "  So  you 
were  afraid  of  my  brother's  picture  ? "  she 
laughed.  He  had  no  time  to  answer,  for  just 
then  came  his  cue. 

She  followed  him  in  a  few  moments,  and 
from  the  instant  she  appeared,  she  held  every 
eye.  Miss  Max  had  done  well  enough,  every 
one  thought,  but  Mr.  Toland  in  the  first  en 
trance  opened  his  eyes  to  see  how  Emily  Hep 
burn  carried  herself.  He  was  no  less  startled  to 
hear  the  applause  she  received.  Just  then  the 
manager  appeared  behind  him. 

"  What 's  up,  anyway  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  There  's  certainly  something  doing,  the  house 
was  sold  out  at  eight  o'clock.  First  time  we've 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

had  the  S.  R.  O.  sign  up  since  the  piece 
opened.  Who  's  that  girl,  anyway  ?  What  are 
they  roaring  about  in  front? " 

"Watch  her,"  said  Toland.  "By  Jove,  I 
had  no  idea  she  had  it  in  her !  She 's  carry 
ing  the  whole  play ;  and  to  think  I  gave  the 
part  to  Miss  Hope  !  Left  us  in  the  lurch,  too, 
damn  her ! " 

"Who  are  all  those  flowers  for?"  he  asked, 
as  boy  after  boy  passed  up  the  stairs  to  the 
dressing-rooms. 

"  Miss  Hepburn,  sir,"  said  a  stage  hand. 
"  There  are  half-a-dozen  boxes  from  Thorley's 
there." 

"  I  never  knew  we  had  such  an  attraction," 
said  the  manager. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  act  the  flowers  began 
to  come  over  the  footlights.  It  was  against  the 
rule  at  McCabe's,  but  there  were  so  many,  and 
so  persistently  forced,  that  the  ushers  were 
obliged  to  hand  them  up.  Miss  Hepburn  was 
called  out  by  name  several  times.  She  was 
trembling  now,  with  an  air  that  no  one  had  seen 
before  with  her.  The  star  was  glowering,  and 
in  the  wings  there  was  a  murmur  of  comment 
from  the  actors. 
[66] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

Emily  came  off  at  last,  and  once  off,  nearly 
fainted.  Mr.  Toland  came  up  and  said  a  few 
words  that  revived  her.  She  ran  upstairs,  escap 
ing  lightly  the  congratulations  of  the  company, 
and  began  hurriedly  to  dress  for  the  second  act. 
When  she  came  out,  Walter  Blackfield  met  her 
on  the  stairs. 

"  Before  I  tell  you  how  wonderful  you  are  — 
tell  me,  did  you  mean  what  you  said  ?  May  I 
ask  you  now  ?  You  Ve  set  me  on  fire,  Emily  ! 
Tell  me  now  what  to  expect !  I  can't  wait !  " 

" '  We  're  passionately  met  in  this  sad  world ' ! " 
she  laughed.  By  this  time  she  had  lost  her  fear 
and  was  reveling  in  the  ecstasy  of  a  double, 
perhaps  a  triple  happiness.  To  make  good  in 
her  part  was  joy  enough  for  her;  to  heighten  it, 
intoxicate  it  with  Walter  Blackfield's  love,  was 
almost  too  much. 

But  he  insisted  upon  an  answer,  barring  her 
way  downstairs.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

"  Don't  wake  me  out  of  my  dream,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  walking  on  air.  If  I  succeed  this 
night,  if  I  make  a  hit,  — you  '//  win  too  !  " 
Then  she  ran  past  him  and  took  her  place  in 
the  wings. 

There  was  another  storm  when  she  appeared. 

[67] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

The  tumult  was,  she  thought,  ridiculous,  but  it 
was  a  part  of  the  dream.  She  paid  no  attention 
to  it,  for  this  was  her  best  scene,  and  she  swept 
into  it  tingling,  rapt.  It  was  not  till  there  came 
a  lull  in  her  action  that,  through  the  open  wings, 
she  saw  members  of  the  company  pointing  and 
gesticulating.  She  turned  at  her  first  opportu 
nity,  and  almost  for  the  first  time  looked  into 
the  house.  She  began  with  the  stage  box,  and 
there  her  eyes  stopped. 

There  Sally  sat,  like  a  queen  enthroned, 
sparkling  with  jewels,  smiling,  with  her  lids 
half  dropped,  applauding  at  every  laugh.  Be 
side  her  sat  a  young  man  with  a  small  black 
mustache.  The  two  had  just  come  in,  and 
already  the  company  thrilled  as  with  a  shock 
of  electricity.  The  tempo  of  the  piece  quick 
ened  ;  it  went  now  with  gusto.  The  star  her 
self  became  infected  with  the  excitement,  and 
her  comedy  soared.  Every  one  played  to  the 
stage  box,  every  one  wondered  and  whispered. 
There  came  another  wave  of  applause  at  the 
end  of  the  act,  and  again  the  stage  was  besieged 
with  roses.  It  did  not  seem  as  if  there  could 
be  so  many  American  Beauties  in  town.  Emily 
was  nearly  terrified  with  her  success. 
[68] 


Sally,  the  Scroyle 

The  last  intermission  was  short,  and  gave  her 
scarcely  time  to  change  her  costume.  Then,  as 
she  stood  there  before  the  glass  gazing  at  her 
self  transformed,  the  wonder  and  the  mystery 
reached  a  crisis.  The  gems  were  genuine,  the 
costume  had  been  made  expressly  for  her,  Sally 
Hope  was  responsible  for  the  full  house,  the 
applause,  the  flowers  that  now  almost  crowded 
her  out  of  her  own  dressing-room !  Then  who 
was  Sally  Hope? 

She  flew  down  to  the  stage,  dispatched  a 
note  to  the  box,  and  went  on,  "  like  starlight, 
hid  in  jewels."  She  was  indeed  playing  "  op 
posite  "  Walter  now,  and  playing  hard,  playing 
her  heart  against  his,  and  playing  to  an  audi 
ence  of  one.  She  did  not  hear  the  applause, 
she  saw  only  Walter  and  Sally,  and  she  saw 
that  Sally  understood. 

At  the  end,  as  the  curtain  fell  and  rose, 
Walter  turned  to  her  and  whispered,  — 

"  Now !  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  triumph  ? 
Will  you  give  me  mine?  " 

She  clasped  his  hand  tighter  and  smiled  an 
answer. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Hope  arose  from  her 
seat  and  flung  her  corsage  bouquet  of  orchids 

[69] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

fair  over  the  footlights.  Walter  ran  for  it,  and 
rescued  it  just  as  the  heavy  act-drop  fell. 

"Who  is  she?"  he  cried.  "Who  is  she, 
anyway?  " 

"  I  sent  her  a  note  round  by  the  front," 
Emily  said.  "  I  wrote,  f "  O,  thou  hast  been 
a  most  prodigious  comet!"  Who  are  you?' 
Here  's  a  card  —  let  's  see  what  it  says."  She 
turned  to  the  light.  It  read,  "  Sally,  the 
Scroyle  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Walter,  " f  they  talk  of  Jupiter 
—  he  's  but  a  squib-cracker  to  her  ! '  —  '  Ten 
such  camphire  constitutions  would  call  again  the 
Golden  Age  in  question '  !  *' 

"  Oh,"  Emily  breathed  warmly,  "  is  n't  she 
4  a  lasting  mine  of  joy '  ?  " 

"  No,  that  'syou,  sweetheart !  "  he  protested, 
as  he  bore  her  away.  Then,  just  before  the 
company  captured  her,  he  cried,  " f  I  have  a 
new  soul  in  me,  made  of  a  North  Wind  ' !  " 


Ill 

The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

JUST  what  turned  Miss  Million's  interest 
towards  the  hardware  business,  I  don't 
know,  unless  it  was  some  chance  remark  of 
mine  to  the  effect  that  hardware  stores  were  always 
busy.  She  set  me,  at  any  rate,  to  find  an  interesting 
one,  and  it  was  my  description  of  Mr.  John  Gowy 
given  somewhat  trivially  at  his  expense,  that  in 
duced  her  to  experiment  next  at  Deacon  Brothers*. 

She  obtained  the  position,  not  without  some 
trouble,  and  went  immediately  and  enthusiastically 
to  work  at  what  would,  to  most,  prove  the  dullest 
possible  employment. 

As  Stella  Delafield,  I  saw  her  at  times  while 
she  was  in  her  cashier's  window,  and  as  Miss 
Million  of  California,  nearly  every  evening  in  her 
apartment  on  East  Fifty-Eighth  Street.  It  was 
pretty  hard  work  for  her,  but  the  excitement  of 
the  game  kept  her  up  wonderfully ;  and  on  Sundays, 
she  rested  herself  with  automobile  trips,  usually 
in  my  company. 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

/  was  able  to  assist  her  in  many  ways  through 
this  adventure,  buying  the  weapons  she  presented 
to  the  Whaup,  leading  him  indirectly  to  his  Har 
lem  flat,  and  in  other  minor  matters. 

It  was  not  until  two  years  later,  after  this 
period  of  adventure  was  over,  that  she  again  saw 
the  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel;  but  meanwhile, 
even  during  her  other  adventures,  Miss  Million 
kept,  through  me,  in  constant  touch  with  their 
lives. 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

DEACON  BROTHERS'  was  like  any 
other  big,  downtown  hardware  store ; 
as  animated  with  busy  clerks  and  im 
patient  customers,  as  crowded  with  heteroge 
neous  stock,  as  choked  with  fascinating  tools, 
machines,  and  materials  in  every  aisle  and  pas 
sage.  Underfoot,  scattered  papers,  pasteboard 
boxes,  nails,  strings,  and  tags ;  overhead,  tiers 
of  shelves  and  drawers,  filled  with  hinges,  locks, 
and  fittings,  each  with  its  sample  wired  to  the 
outside.  In  front  of  the  shop  were  the  great 
show-windows,  filled  with  cunning,  glistening 
implements,  where  beyond  the  plate-glass,  the 
traffic  of  the  city  roared.  In  the  rear  was  the 
square,  cavernous  doorway,  high  above  the  side 
walk,  where  brawling  teamsters  toiled  at  heavy 
cases  which  creaked  and  hurtled.  Halfway  be 
tween  the  two  was  an  annex  to  the  main  store, 
a  labyrinth  of  dim,  narrow  alleys,  leading  to 
unexpected  store-rooms  for  paints  and  brushes, 
ship  chandlery,  or  wire  and  metals. 

[73] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Through  all  this  confusion  was  woven,  like 
a  spider's  web,  a  radial  system  of  wires,  con 
verging  at  the  cashier's  window.  Along  these 
airy  tracks  the  carriers  sped,  to  stop  with  a  snap 
above  the  cashier's  head,  waiting  for  her  to 
make  change  and  shoot  them  back  along  the 
pulsing,  singing  wire. 

For  a  week  there  had  been  a  new  electricity 
in  the  air  of  Deacon  Brothers'  store.  For  a 
week  a  new  face,  more  demurely  coquettish 
than  any  of  its  predecessors,  had  been  seen  at 
the  cashier's  window.  For  a  week  the  salesmen 
had  made  unnecessary  errands  to  the  office,  and 
had  departed  smiling.  So  far,  there  had  been 
at  least  two  mistakes  in  making  change  every 
day,  also  ;  but  no  one,  not  even  old  Mr.  Dea 
con,  seemed  to  care. 

The  new  cashier  was  quaint  and  incongruous, 
the  one  spot  of  color  in  the  establishment,  and 
differed  from  previous  occupants  of  the  window 
by  many  signs.  She  never  wore  paper  cuffs, 
though  her  fresh  shirtwaists  often  were  adorned 
with  delicate  laces  or  embroideries  at  the  neck 
and  wrists.  One  missed,  too,  the  black,  soiled 
service  apron  which  former  cashiers  were  wont 
to  affect,  and  the  pencil  stuck  in  the  hair.  No 
[74] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

jangle  of  jewelry  or  flash  of  showy  ornaments 
came  from  the  little  cage. 

Miss  Stella  Delafield  came  with  the  evident 
belief  that  nails  were  sold  by  the  dozen,  and 
hinges  by  the  pound.  She  did  not  know  the 
difference  between  a  hasp  and  a  door-jamb, 
or  butts  from  escutcheon  pins.  Yet  her  inex 
perience  was  so  distractingly  original,  and  her 
desire  to  learn  so  charmingly  avid,  that  the 
shipping-clerk  had  spent  entire  noon  hours  in 
teaching  her  the  terminology  of  the  craft.  He 
explained  laboriously  the  difference  between 
the  teeth  of  a  cross-cut  and  a  ripping  saw,  the 
distinctions  of  bits  and  augers  and  gimlets,  the 
characteristics  of  cut  nails,  wire  nails,  and  clinch 
nails,  and  screws  of  sorts.  He  had  awakened 
her  mind  to  a  knowledge  of  rat-tail  files  and  riv 
ets —  but  Miss  Delafield  still  had  much  to  learn. 

She  did  not  need  any  instructor,  however,  in 
her  study  of  human  nature.  Here  she  was  an 
adept,  alert  and  sapient.  Her  interest  was  so 
keen  that  it  was  not  long  before  she  was  sym 
pathizing  with  the  errand  boy  in  his  troubles  at 
night-school,  and  advising  the  shipping-clerk 
what  to  give  his  sister  for  a  birthday  present. 
She  did  not  talk  much,  but  watched  everything 

[75] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

that  passed,  often  smiling  suddenly,  with  a 
quick  glee  that  half  closed  her  hazel  eyes,  and 
set  two  dimples  dancing  in  her  cheeks. 

The  bookkeeper,  John  Gow,  standing  at  a 
desk  beside  the  cashier,  had  ample  opportunity 
for  watching  Miss  Delafield,  and  not  seldom, 
with  a  good-natured  pity  for  her  innocence,  for 
correcting  her  mistakes.  During  the  hours  when 
business  was  slack,  he  found  many  chances  to 
talk  to  her  and  to  supplement  the  commercial 
education  which  the  shipping-clerk  had  begun. 
For  this  kindness  he  soon  received  an  unex 
pected  reward.  Miss  Delafield,  being  one  of 
those  rare  spirits  with  the  power  of  conferring 
sobriquets,  had  during  the  first  week  nomi 
nated  him  "  the  Whaup." 

John  Gow  had  never  before  possessed  a 
nickname,  and  he  accepted  this  distinguishing 
honor  with  a  pathetic  pleasure.  He  was  shy 
and  reticent  and  awkward,  always  a  laughing 
stock  for  his  associates,  but  as  inevitably  their 
refuge  in  times  of  financial  trouble,  for  he  was 
as  generous  as  he  was  absurd.  He  was  a  strange, 
anaemic,  freckled  youth,  and  not,  in  point  of 
fact,  unlike  the  curlew  or  great  whaup  of  Miss 
Delafield's  sprightly  fancy.  He  had  a  pale 
[76] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

thatch  of  auburn  hair,  pale  blue  protruding 
eyes,  a  large,  curved  nose,  and  a  long  neck  re 
markable  for  the  Adam's  apple  which  rose  and 
fell  as  he  talked.  His  figure  was  consistently 
long  and  angular,  and  he  came  to  the  office  per 
petually  clad  in  a  wrinkled  pepper-and-salt  suit, 
always  changing  his  coat  for  a  thin,  shiny  black 
one,  whose  sleeves  were  so  short  that  his  hands 
protruded  from  them  like  the  talons  of  a  bird. 
Seriously  intent  upon  his  accounts,  he  seemed 
as  colorless  and  commonplace  a  hack  as  ever 
added  a  column  of  figures ;  but  when  he  smiled, 
showing  a  line  of  strong,  even  teeth,  white  as 
snow,  there  was  a  gentle  lovableness  about  his 
face  that  gave  it  an  active  charm. 

As  time  went  on,  the  Whaup,  emboldened 
by  Miss  Delafield's  good  nature,  made  shy 
advances  in  familiarity.  For  a  while  he  treated 
her  to  the  embarrassed  favors  a  primary  school 
child  might  show  his  teacher,,  presenting  her 
with  pictorial  calendars,  little  advertising  note 
books,  or  even  half  pounds  of  cheap  choco 
lates.  These  she  accepted  with  such  apparent 
pleasure  that  he  ventured  still  farther  from  his 
shell  of  reserve,  and  invited  her  to  share  his 
lunches  with  him  in  the  Annex. 

[77] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Here  she  found  him,  one  day,  as  she  was  ex 
ploring  with  curiosity  the  unknown  passages  of 
the  store.  She  also  had  brought  her  luncheon, 
and  ate  it  as  she  strolled  —  half  a  broiled  duck, 
an  egg  with  mayonnaise,  asparagus,  long  out 
of  season,  and  a  little  pot  of  Bar-le-Duc.  She 
came  unexpectedly  upon  him,  as  he  was  seated 
on  a  coil  of  rope  amongst  the  anchors  and  pul 
leys,  chewing  at  a  graham  sandwich,  and  read 
ing  from  a  book.  She  sat  down  upon  a  keg  of 
nails  beside  him,  and  he  put  his  reading  away 
lingeringly. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  *  The  Three  Guards 
men  '  ?  "  he  asked,  with  his  friendly  smile. 

Miss  Delafield  nodded,  and  her  smile  was 
as  engaging  as  his. 

"  Say,  it 's  a  great  book,  is  n't  it  ?  D'Ar- 
tagnan  was  a  dandy  !  That 's  the  kind  of  man 
I  'd  like  to  be.  I  often  wonder  what  he  'd  do 
if  he  came  to  New  York." 

"  He  'd  probably  be  a  policeman,"  said  Miss 
Delafield. 

The  Whaup  smiled  almost  patronizingly,  as 
if  she  were  a  very  little  girl.  Then  he  looked 
up  at  a  dusty,  cobwebbed  window  with  an  in 
tent,  far-away  gaze.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  can 

[78] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

understand  what  I  mean,"  he  said ;  "  nobody 
seems  to  be  able  to.  I  'm  a  kind  of  a  crank 
about  it,  I  suppose,  but  I  believe  there  's  just 
as  much  romance  in  the  world  nowadays  as 
there  was  then." 

"Nobody  ever  has  adventures  nowadays, 
except  criminals,"  said  Miss  Delafield.  "Did 
you  ever  have  one,  Whaup  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said ;  the  word  was  long  drawn 
out  and  plaintive.  "  It  does  n't  seem  possible 
in  a  city,  does  it  ?  Everybody  's  too  busy  sell 
ing  things  and  making  money.  But  things  do 
happen  out  West  all  the  time  ! " 

"Why  don't  you  go  out  there  and  try  it, 
then  ?  "  Miss  Delafield  had  not  taken  her  eyes 
from  the  Whaup's  wistful  face. 

"Gosh!  I'd  like  to,"  he  cried.  "But  it 
takes  more  money  than  I  Ve  got.  Perhaps  I 
may  get  there  some  day,  though.  I  know  just 
what  I  'd  do.  I  'd  go  to  the  Black  Hills.  But 
I  wish  I  had  a  gun  —  I  'd  need  it  there,  sure. 
I  'm  crazy  about  knives  and  firearms." 

"  Say,"  he  added,  "  I  saw  a  girl  driving  an 
automobile  in  the  Park,  last  Sunday,  and  she 
looked  so  much  like  you  that  it  might  have 
been  your  sister.  Is  n't  it  funny  that  people 

[79] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

like  that,  who  do  have  money  —  all  they  want 
-  don't  do  something  interesting  with  it,  in 
stead  of  spending  it  just  like  everybody  else  ? 
Think  what  a  girl  like  that  could  do,  if  she 
wanted  to  have  fun  with  Destiny  —  if  she  only 
had  imagination  !  Why  does  n't  she  travel  or 
do  something  different  ?  Rich  people  are  al 
ways  so  stupid  ! " 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  *  different '  to  her  if 
she  had  to  work  for  her  living  in  a  place  like 
this.  Think  how  that  might  amuse  an  auto 
mobile  girl  with  money  !  " 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  Fancy 
romance  in  a  hardware  store  !  It 's  impossible. 
It 's  absurd  !  " 

He  rose  to  go  back  to  his  desk  with  the 
far-away  look  still  in  his  pale  blue  eyes.  Stella's 
hazel  eyes  were  still  eager  and  amused.  They 
seemed  always  to  be  amused  at  something.  She 
watched  the  Whaup,  now,  more  closely  than 
ever,  but  he  did  not  notice  it.  Over  his  desk 
hung  the  advertising  calendar  of  some  manu 
facturer  of  firearms,  an  exciting,  highly  col 
ored  picture  of  a  frontier  scout  surrounded  by 
Indians.  Whenever  the  Whaup  did  look  up 
from  his  work,  it  was  usually  at  this.  That 
[80] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

afternoon,  during  a  lull  in  her  work,  he  gave 
it  an  absorbed  gaze,  and  then,  leaning  towards 
her  window,  he  whispered  breathlessly,  — 

"  What  would  you  do,  if  a  wonderful,  beau 
tiful  woman  in  Russian  sables  and  diamonds 
should  rush  up  to  you,  while  you  were  walking 
up  Broadway,  and  thrust  a  hot  buttered  roll 
into  your  hand,  snip  off  the  second  button  of 
your  jacket  with  a  little  pair  of  scissors,  and  say 
*  Parallelogram  ! '  and  run  down  a  cross-street, 
looking  back  over  her  shoulder  as  if  she  were 
frightened  ? " 

"  I  'd  scream  for  help,"  said  the  cashier. 

The  Whaup  turned  to  his  ledger  with  a  look 
of  disappointment. 

"What  would  you  do?"   Stella  added. 

The  Whaup  looked  at  her  very  seriously. 
"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  It 's  been  worrying 
me  all  the  afternoon.  It  would  be  terrible  to 
have  an  adventure  like  that,  and  then  not  be 
able  to  follow  it  up." 

"You  're  not  a  whaup  at  all,"  said  the  cashier ; 
"  you  're  a  goose  !  " 

A  few  days  after  that,  he  came  into  the  office 
and  greeted  Miss  Delafield  excitedly.  "  Say," 
he  began,  "  three  times  this  week  I  've  met 

[81] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

a  man  coming  across  Union  Square  with  a 
pretty  girl  who  was  crying.  I  've  a  good  mind 
to  take  a  day  off,  next  time,  and  shadow 
them ! " 

"  You  'd  better  stick  to  your  hammers  and 
turning-lathes  and  brass  knobs,"  the  cashier 
replied.  "  I  see  by  the  paper  that  there 's  a 
hardware  trust  being  formed,  and  that  prices 
on  all  building  materials  are  going  up.  I  wonder 
if  our  firm  is  in  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  sick  of  the  hardware  business, 
it  does  n't  interest  me  at  all,"  said  the  Whaup. 
"  I  consider  this  office  life  merely  a  dream.  I 
only  really  live  after  business  hours,  at  night. 
Say,  I  've  got  a  great  game !  It 's  bully  fun.  Last 
night  I  pretended  that  I  was  the  Duke  of  Corn 
wall,  traveling  incognito,  and  I  walked  all  over 
the  West  Side  looking  for  adventures.  I  did  n't 
find  a  single  open  door,  though,  nor  any  beck 
oning  girls  or  anything  —  only  a  drunken  man 
who  called  me  (  Charlie  ; '  but  it  was  fun,  any 
way.  If  I  had  only  had  the  money,  I  '11  bet  I 
could  have  made  things  happen.  To-night  I 
think  I  '11  go  down  on  the  Bowery  and  ask  every 
policeman  I  meet  if  he  's  seen  my  runaway 
wife,  and  see  what  they  say." 
[82] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  some  such 
manifestation  of  the  Whaup's  secret  passion 
for  romance.  The  cashier  listened  interestedly 
to  each  new  story,  and  faithfully  kept  his  con 
fidence.  Sometimes  the  two,  after  hurrying 
through  a  luncheon  together,  would  spend  what 
time  was  left  of  their  noon  hour  walking  the 
downtown  streets.  On  these  excursions  the 
Whaup's  picturesque,  agile  fancy  regaled  her 
with  many  impromptu  inventions,  interpreting 
the  matter-of-fact  incidents  they  witnessed  in 
terms  of  the  most  deliciously  thrilling  adventure. 
Together  they  followed  interesting  pedestrians, 
or  paused  to  eavesdrop  at  the  conversations  of 
waiting  groups,  or  picked  possible  heroes  and 
heroines  from  amongst  the  passers-by.  They 
visited  pawnshops,  and  he  made  up  for  her 
strange  stories  of  unredeemed  pledges. 

Invariably  their  itinerary  included  a  stop  at  the 
show-windows  of  a  gun-shop  in  the  vicinity, 
where  the  envious  Whaup  would  gloat  over  the 
display  of  weapons,  and  descant  upon  the  merits 
of  Colt's  44*8  and  magazine  pistols.  He  noticed 
every  change  in  the  arrangement  of  the  stock, 
and  knew  something  of  every  item  in  its  col 
lection. 

[83] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

The  cashier  made  occasional  tours  of  inves 
tigation  downtown  on  her  own  account,  leav 
ing  the  Whaup  in  the  Annex  alone  with  his 
book.  She  used  at  these  times  to  patronize  a 
dairy-lunch  place  a  few  blocks  away,  and  it  was 
at  this  little  restaurant  Stella  met  the  young 
woman  whom,  with  her  customary  pleasure  in 
giving  nicknames,  she  immediately  dubbed 
"the  Whimbrel." 

Brown  eyes  had  the  Whimbrel,  and  fine, 
satiny,  brown  hair,  trimly  dressed  without  re 
gard  to  the  shop-girl's  usual  idea  of  style.  Her 
little  round  face  was  still  childlike  and  pearl- 
pink,  save  when,  blushing  furiously  on  slight 
cause,  it  was  suffused  with  carmine.  She  had 
an  habitual  timid,  wondering  expression,  and 
her  small  red  lips,  usually  half  opened,  showed 
a  straight  line  of  little  blue-white  teeth,  and 
occasionally  a  dainty,  pointed  tongue. 

She  was  so  conscientious  in  her  work,  and 
so  interested  in  it,  so  willing  to  advise  her  cus 
tomers  in  regard  to  their  orders,  so  careful  not 
to  spill  one  drop  of  coffee  into  the  saucer,  that 
Miss  Delafield  became  interested  in  her  at  once. 
Usually  coming  late,  she  often  had  time  for  a 
short  conversation  with  the  little  waitress,  and 
[84] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

before  long  the  acquaintance  grew  into  a  more 
active  friendship.  The  cashier  sometimes  waited 
for  the  Whimbrel  until  the  dairy  had  closed, 
and  walked  uptown  with  her.  At  these  times 
it  was  always  the  Whimbrel  who  talked,  and 
Miss  Delafield  who  listened  attentively. 

One  day,  as  the  two  girls  were  thus  home 
ward  bound,  the  Whimbrel  suddenly  seized 
Miss  Delafield's  arm,  and  hurried  her  into  a 
picture  store. 

"  I  Ve  just  got  to  have  that  picture  of  the 
Bargello  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "They 're  marked 
down  to  twelve  cents  to-day,  and  I  'm  afraid  it 
will  be  taken  if  I  wait.  I  really  can't  afford  it, 
but  I  've  been  longing  for  it  for  six  months,  and 
I  just  can't  stand  it  any  longer  !  " 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  want  of  that 
little  photograph  ?  "  Miss  Delafield  asked,  after 
the  purchase  had  been  rapturously  made. 

"Oh,  you  'd  laugh  at  me!  "  said  the  Whim 
brel,  a  new,  deeper  look  in  her  wide  brown 
eyes.  Miss  Delafield  clasped  her  hand  in  a 
promise  of  sympathy.  "  Well,  then,"  said  the 
Whimbrel,  as  they  walked  on,  "  I  'm  traveling 
in  northern  Italy  !  " 

Miss  Delafield  looked  puzzled. 

[85] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  It 's  my  one  extravagance,  but  you  need  n't 
scold  me.  You  're  extravagant  yourself,  you 
know,  Stella.  I  've  seen  your  underwear  —  you 
can't  tell  me  I  Those  silk  stockings  you  have 
on  cost  four  dollars,  if  they  cost  a  cent.  And 
you  wear  hand-made  stocks  and  cuffs  and  things 
—  they  cost  money,  even  if  you  do  make  them 
yourself!  I  spend  all  my  spare  money  on  pho 
tographs  and  maps,  and  economize  on  clothes. 
All  the  tips  I  get,  I  use  in  northern  Italy.  Of 
course  it  is  n't  much,  for  they  don't  tip  much 
in  the  dairy.  But  I  try  to  be  as  nice  as  I  can 
to  everybody,  whether  they  tip  me  or  not, 
because  I  don't  want  this  to  make  me  mer 
cenary." 

"  How  did  you  ever  get  such  a  crazy  notion 
into  your  head  anyway  ?  "  said  Miss  Delafield, 
looking  at  her  curiously. 

"Why,  one  day  I  happened  to  see  a  red-cov 
ered  book  lying  on  top  of  an  ash-barrel,  and 
I  took  it  out  and  carried  it  home.  It  was  an 
old  copy  of  Baedeker's  guide-book  to  north 
ern  Italy.  I  sat  up  till  two  o'clock  that  night,  I 
remember,  and  every  night  after  that,  till  I  had 
finished  it,  all  except  three  pages  about  Pisa 
that  were  torn  out.  Oh,  Stella,  it  was  like  a 
[86] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

beautiful  dream  !  It  was  a  dream  I  have  n't 
really  waked  up  from,  even  yet !  There  was  an 
old  Italian  lived  next  to  us ;  he  taught  music, 
and  I  got  him  to  tell  me  all  about  it,  and  pro 
nounce  the  names  for  me  —  such  wonderful, 
beautiful  names,  Stella,  just  like  music —  Lago 
di  Como,  Lugano,  Bellagio,  Fiesole,  and  even 
the  common  ones  like  campanile  and  piazza. 
You  know  the  cities  don't  have  the  names  we 
know  them  by  at  all !  Florence  is  Firenze,  and 
Venice  is  Venezia.  Well,  I  know  the  book  al 
most  by  heart  now,  and  so  I  travel  about  from 
place  to  place  on  the  maps,  through  the  streets, 
past  all  the  beautiful,  lovely  buildings,  and  over 
the  wonderful  marble  bridges,  and  into  the 
churches.  I  've  bought  loads  of  photographs, 
but  there  are  so  many  I  can't  get !  I  've  learned 
lots,  but  there  are  so  many  things  I  want  so 
much  to  know  about  —  Byzantine  architecture, 
and  Botticelli,  and  the  Renaissance.  The  old 
Italian  died  last  summer,  so  I  have  to  puzzle 
it  all  out  by  myself  now.  I  'm  trying  to  save 
up  money  so  I  can  really  go  some  day.  Do 
you  know,  the  very  stones  they  build  houses 
of  in  Venice  are  all  colored  ;  think  of  it !  If  I 
could  only  have  one  day  and  one  night  there 

[87] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

in  a  gondola,  and  see  the  palaces  and  the  funny 
little  passageways  and  *  poquito  '  canals,  and 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  and  the  Rialto  —  oh,  I  'd 

work  for  the  next  five  years  without  complain- 

•      I » 

ing! 

"You're  a  queer  little  girl,  are  n't  you?" 
said  Miss  Delafield.  "  How  perfectly  absurd 
you  are.  Why,  you  're  almost  as  funny  as  the 
Whaup !  " 

"Who  is  the  Whaup?"  the  Whimbrel 
asked. 

"  Oh,  he  's  just  a  silly  boy  who  works  at  our 
place.  I  never  saw  such  a  goose,  so  I  call  him 
the  Whaup,  the  same  as  I  call  you  the  Whim 
brel.  He 's  all  the  time  pretending  he 's  a 
prince  in  disguise  or  somebody  else  that  he 
is  n't,  instead  of  attending  to  business.  He 
goes  out  every  night  looking  for  adventures 
like  a  schoolboy.  Is  n't  it  perfectly  foolish  of 
him  ?  " 

"  No,  it 's  fine  I  "  cried  the  Whimbrel,  her 
face  lighting.  "  Why,  I  had  no  idea  men  were 
ever  like  that !  It 's  perfectly  lovely  to  think 
of  somebody  really  doing  it.  I  thought  I  was 
the  only  person  in  the  world  who  had  It." 

"Had  what?"  said  Miss  Delafield. 
[88] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

"  IT,"  cried  the  Whimbrel.  "  He  's  got  //, 
I  do  believe  !  What  did  you  say  he  was  —  a 
Whaup  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Delafield,  "  he  's  just  the 
same  silly  sort  of  curlew  as  you,  dear !  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand  —  nobody  un 
derstands  !  But  you  're  awfully  nice  and  dear, 
even  if  you  have  n't  got  It."  She  paused,  to  add 
presently,  "  I  think  I  'd  like  that  "Whaup  !  " 

The  routine  of  the  Whaup's  dreary  book 
keeping  was  broken,  one  day,  by  the  arrival 
of  an  express  package  addressed  to  John  Gow, 
Esq.  The  cashier  watched  him  slyly  as  he 
opened  it.  Within  her  experience  he  had  never 
received  a  letter,  or  been  visited  by  a  friend, 
or  even  mentioned  an  acquaintance  excepting 
his  landlady,  an  aged  aunt  in  Hoboken,  and  a 
little  niece,  for  whom  he  was  wont  to  cut  out 
advertising  pictures  and  paste  them  into  a  scrap- 
book. 

His  looks  now  betokened  a  high  and  won 
dering  excitement.  With  eager  fingers  he 
opened  the  pasteboard  box;  then  his  face  went 
on  fire.  After  a  single  rapt  glance  at  the  con 
tents  of  the  package,  he  hastily  shoved  it  into  a 

[89] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny- 
closet  behind  him,  and  closed  the  door.    Then 
he  went  over  to  the  cashier. 

"  It 's  come  !  "  he  whispered  solemnly. 

"  What 's  come,  Whaup  ?  " 

"  The  Adventure  !  "  he  hissed.  "  Did  you 
see  that  package  that  just  came  for  me  ?  //  was 
a  Luger  magazine  pistol  and  a  Colt's  44!  " 

"  Who  in  the  world  ever  sent  them  ?  "  she 
asked,  smiling. 

"  I  don't  know.  And  I  don't  want  to  know ! 
It's  a  mystery.  Don't  tell  any  one  about  it, 
will  you  ?  It  might  spoil  everything  !  " 

He  returned  to  his  desk.  But  every  ten 
minutes,  at  least,  during  the  remainder  of  the 
day,  he  stole  to  the  closet,  took  a  furtive,  fas 
cinated  look  at  the  weapons,  and  shut  them  in 
again.  His  face,  illumined  by  rapture,  then  re 
turned  patiently  to  the  ledger.  At  six  o'clock, 
Miss  Delafield  saw  him  go  to  the  closet,  change 
his  coat,  take  the  smaller  pistol  from  the  box, 
slip  it  into  his  pocket,  and  walk  splendidly  away 
without  a  word. 

From   that   day  on,  the  Whaup's  attitude 

towards  the  cashier,  while  still  as  kind,  was  the 

slightest    degree   more  patronizing,  as  of  one 

who,  ennobled  by  high  Romance,  condescends 

[90] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

to  the  humble  wayfarer  of  the  Commonplace.. 
He  kept  an  indulgent  eye  upon  her  work, 
and  encouraged  her  to  make  the  most  of  her 
rather  limited  capacity,  advising  her  to  study 
stenography.  He  assumed,  in  short,  the  genial 
pose  of  Mentor.  So  much  had  the  distinction 
of  Fate  done  for  him.  He  came  back  to  his 
desk,  one  noon,  to  say,  when  Miss  Delafield 
came  in, — 

"  Say,  who  was  that  pretty  little  girl  I  saw 
you  with  yesterday  on  Broadway?  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  the  Whimbrel  —  is  n't  she 
nice  ? " 

He  showed  a  whimsical  interest.  "What,, 
the  whimbrel,  or  little  whaup,  may-whaup, 
tang-whaup,  or  curlew  ?  The  Neumenias  Ph^eo- 
pus  ?  She  must  be  a  relative  of  mine  ! "  The 
familiar  words  came  freely.  "  What  is  she 
like  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  's  a  perfect  little  fool.  If  you  call 
me  extravagant,  I  wonder  what  you  'd  think  of 
her  !  Now  would  n't  you  think  that  a  girl  who 
works  for  six  dollars  a  week  would  have  more 
sense  than  to  spend  it  on  photographs  of  old 
buildings  and  stupid  cathedrals,  and  waste  her 
time  dreaming  about  Italy,  instead  of  trying 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

^ 

to  educate  herself  for  a  better  position  ?  She 
pretends  she  's  traveling  all  the  time,  and  sits 
up  in  her  room,  mooning  away  over  maps 
and  pictures,  till  I  should  think  she'd  grow 
crazy." 

"You  don't  say  so! "  said  the  Whaup,  with 
his  queer,  intent  stare  at  the  Indian  calendar. 
"  She  is  a  whimbrel,  is  n't  she  !  Say,  I  'd  rather 
like  to  know  her,  I  think  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  're  crazy  enough  already  !  "  said 
the  cashier. 

"  I  never  knew  anybody  who  did  things  like 
that,"  he  went  on  dreamily.  "  Somehow,  I 
think  perhaps  she'd  understand.  You  see, you 
never  try  to  get  out  of  the  every-day  rut,  and 
you  don't  know  what  it  means  to  play  the 
game." 

"  What  game  ?  "  asked  the  cashier. 

"THE  Game!"  he  exclaimed,  smiling  at 
her  in  a  superior  way.  "  You  're  awfully  nice, 
Miss  Delafield,  but  you  have  no  sense  of  ro 
mance,  and  so  you  can't  play  it.  But  I  'd  like 
to  know  that  Whimbrel !  " 

He  came  back  to  the  subject  of  the  Whim 
brel  cautiously,  several  times,  that  afternoon, 
and  the  cashier  answered  each  of  his  questions 
[92] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

with  a  smile.  The  next  noon,  noticing  that  she 
had  brought  her  lunch,  he  left  his  unopened, 
slipped  mysteriously  out  of  the  office,  and  made 
his  way  to  the  dairy  alone.  There  was  a  new, 
bold  light  in  his  eye,  and  the  spirit  of  adven 
ture  showed  in  his  carriage  as  he  entered  the 
shop,  sat  down  at  a  table,  and  looked  curiously 
about  him. 

A  black-frocked,  round-faced,  pink-and- 
white  girl  with  neatly  parted  brown  satiny  hair 
came  up  to  take  his  order.  The  Whaup's  gen 
tle  voice  was  a  bit  unsteady  as  he  called  for  a 
glass  of  milk  and  a  piece  of  pumpkin  pie.  He 
dared  not  look  at  the  little  waitress.  As  soon 
as  she  had  turned  away,  however,  he  mustered 
up  his  courage,  took  out  a  soft  lead  pencil, 
and  wrote  the  word  "  whimbrel  "  in  large  plain 
letters  upon  the  tablecloth. 

She  returned  with  his  order,  and  was  about 
to  set  it  down  upon  the  table,  when  she  caught 
sight  of  the  writing.  The  Whaup,  staring 
boldly  at  her  now,  saw  her  blush  desperately, 
and  her  hand  shake  so  that  the  milk  slopped 
from  the  tall  tumbler  into  the  saucer.  Her  lips 
were  parted,  her  breath  came  and  went,  but  she 
neither  spoke  nor  smiled. 

[93] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"I  am  the  Whaup,"  he  said.  "Are  you  the 
Whimbrel?" 

She  nodded ;  then  giving  him  one  quick, 
frightened  glance,  she  hurried  away. 

He  had  followed  only  his  boyish  dreams 
before  that,  but  now  he  became  a  man,  and  he 
pursued  a  man's  quarry.  The  blood  ran  warm 
in  his  veins,  his  eyes  burned  with  soft  fires,  his 
head  was  held  high.  He  became  of  a  new,  sud 
den  importance  to  himself,  he  felt  a  new  dig 
nity,  a  new  power.  He  walked  home  that  day 
more  a  prince  in  disguise  than  ever.  And  there 
was  spring  in  the  land,  abounding,  jubilant, 
intoxicating,  like  Heaven  spilling  over  upon 
the  earth  to  drench  it  with  rapture. 

The  Whaup  came  again  and  again  to  the  little 
shop,  and  by  degrees  dared  conversation  with 
her.  The  Whimbrel,  as  timid  as  he,  before,  ac 
cepted,  with  a  fluttering  heart,  the  tribute  of  his 
smile  and  the  reverence  of  his  blue  eyes.  He 
began  to  wait  for  her,  to  walk  uptown  with  her 
through  the  June  sunshine.  For  a  long  time 
they  talked  but  little,  but  soon  they  discovered 
such  a  rare  similarity  in  their  points  of  view, 
that  the  more  common  obvious  remarks  and 
comments  were  unnecessary,  and  they  con- 
[94] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

versed  in  queer  elliptical  phrases  that  a  hearer 
would  find  hard  to  understand.  It  was  a  secret 
language  instinctively  felt  and  comprehended 
by  such  fey  spirits  as  they.  Often  their  conver 
sation  would  be  like  this  :  — 

"Yes,  you  certainly  have  got  It,  Whaup !" 

"  And  you  know  how  to  play  the  Game, 
Whimbrel." 

"Isn't  Stella  a  dear?" 

"  Yes  —  but  if  she  only  understood  !  " 

"  She  never  will  know,  will  she  ?  " 

"  Never  !    Poor  Stella  !  " 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  "  making  "  love 
for  such  rare  comrades.  Love  comes  itself  like 
an  opening  flower,  as  naturally  as  the  mating 
of  birds.  Confirmed  by  tiny  coincidences  of 
taste  and  feeling  and  sensibility,  it  illumined 
life  so  marvelously  that  it  needed  no  announce 
ment,  no  proof,  no  test  of  time  or  absence. 
In  a  flash  of  insight  they  recognized  divinity, 
and  the  rest  was  so  plain,  so  simple  to  their 
eyes,  that  it  needed  no  tribute  even  of  wonder 
—  it  was  inevitable.  Their  fresh,  ardent  spirits 
ran  singing  to  meet  each  other. 

The  cashier  kept  sedulously  apart,  now,  from 

[95] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

the  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel,  avoiding  the 
streets  where  they  might  walk.  If  she  missed 
them,  she  did  not  show  it.  No  one,  looking 
at  her,  would  have  suspected  her  of  being  un 
happy.  There  was  the  same  keen  interest  in 
life  —  in  everything  that  made  her  environment. 
She  was  always  watching  amusedly  the  little 
commonplace  dramas  of  the  store  —  bickering 
customers,  harassed  clerks,  and  jovial  team 
sters.  Often  her  quick  smile  came  and  went, 
narrowing  her  eyes  for  an  instant ;  as  often  her 
eyes  would  soften  and  burn  with  hazel  fires,  in 
sympathy  or  kindness.  Sometimes  she  ate  her 
lunch  alone,  sitting  upon  the  Whaup's  favor 
ite  coil  of  rope  in  the  Annex ;  sometimes  she 
talked  with  the  shipping-clerk  about  his  wife 
and  children ;  sometimes  she  sought  new  res 
taurants,  or  disappeared,  to  come  back  in  haste 
from  no  one  knew  where.  Occasionally  a  young 
man  with  a  small  black  mustache  came  in  to  see 
her  for  fifteen  minutes'  conversation  —  always 
at  the  noon  hour,  while  the  Whaup  was  away. 
One  day,  as  she  was  slowly  walking  uptown, 
watching  the  passers-by  with  her  habitual  curi 
osity,  she  came  unexpectedly  upon  the  Whaup 
and  the  Whimbrel.  They  were  studying  the 
[96] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

fa$ade  of  one  of  the  newer  office  buildings,  and 
the  Whimbrel  was  pointing  out  some  detail 
in  the  rustication  of  the  wall  which  reminded 
her  of  a  Florentine  palace.  The  Whaup's  long 
neck  was  craned  and  his  mouth  was  open,  as 
he  followed  her  words.  He  had  one  hand  laid 
protectingly  upon  the  Whimbrel's  arm,  the 
other  caressed  a  moulding  of  carved  sandstone. 
The  Whimbrel  caught  sight  of  Miss  Delafield, 
who  was  trying  to  pass  unnoticed. 

"Why,  it's  Stella!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh, 
do  come  and  walk  uptown  with  us,  dear !  " 

The  Whaup's  face  burst  into  a  wonderful 
smile.  "  Let  's  tell  her,  Whimbrel."  The 
Whimbrel  nodded  enthusiastically,  and  blushed 
violently. 

"  We  're  engaged,  Miss  Delafield,"  he  an 
nounced. 

"  Why,  are  you  really  ?  I'm  so  surprised. 
But  I  'm  so  glad,  too  !  Is  n't  it  lovely  !  Why, 
is  n't  it  romantic!  How  did  you  ever  meet 
each  other?  I  always  intended  to  introduce 
you,  but "  — 

"That 's  the  beautiful  part  of  it !  "  said  the 
Whimbrel  joyously.  "  We  were  n't  introduced 
at  all !  Ordinary  people  are  always  introduced, 

[97] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

but  we  just  found  each  other  all  by  ourselves, 
did  n't  we,  Whaup  ?  Think  of  it !  In  all  this 
great,  big  city,  we  found  each  other !  It  was  It 
that  brought  us  together,  I  'm  sure  !  You  poor 
dear,  you  '11  never  know  how  wonderful  It  is  ! 
I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand.  It  began 
to  come  the  very  first  day  we  were  engaged.  I 
got  the  most  beautiful  present  you  ever  saw  — 
Botticelli's  "  Annunciation  "  —  not  a  little  one, 
but  a  big  Braun  print.  It 's  the  most  beautiful 
picture  in  the  world!  And  a  book  about  Flor 
ence,  too !  We  're  reading  it  together,  with  a 
map!" 

"  Why,  who  sent  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Miss  Dela- 
field.  "  The  Whaup,  naturally !  " 

"  No,  he  did  n't !  At  first  I  thought  of  course 
he  did,  but  now  I  'm  so  glad  he  did  n't.  I 
don't  want  to  know  who  sent  it.  It 's  just  a 
part  of  It.  It 's  a  blessed  mystery  !  Now  we  're 
going  to  do  something  wonderful !  Shall  we  tell 
Stella  about  it,  Whaup?  " 

"  Yes,  she  can  be  umpire,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"We  won't    tell    her    till  we  get  up  there, 
though,"  said  the  Whimbrel,  and  putting  an  arm 
in  Miss  Delafield's,  and  one  in  the  Whaup's, 
she  started  them  up  Broadway. 
[98] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

They  walked,  chattering  blissfully,  in  simple, 
obvious  dialogue  so  that  the  unillumined  cashier 
might  understand,  till  the  three  reached  Madi 
son  Square.  There  the  Whimbrel  steered  them 
up  to  the  Farragut  Monument,  and  they  sat 
down  in  a  row  upon  its  curved  seat. 

"  Now  ! "  she  said,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"  this  is  what  we  're  going  to  do.  The  Whaup 
has  saved  up  two  hundred  dollars,  and  I  have 
a  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  and  seventy  cents 
in  the  savings  bank.  We  're  going  to  put 
it  together  and  make  a  —  what  do  you  call  it, 
Whaup  ?  " 

"  A  pool,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  We  're  going  to  make  a  pool.  Then  we  're 
going  to  draw  lots,  and  the  one  that  wins  is 
going  to  go  on  a  glorious  vacation.  If  the 
Whaup  wins,  he  's  going  to  take  his  revolvers 
and  go  out  West  to  Leadville  and  the  Black 
Hills  and  the  Yellowstone  Park.  If  I  win,  I  'm 
going  to  take  a  steerage  ticket  on  a  Mediter 
ranean  steamer  to  Naples,  and  go  straight  to 
Tuscany,  and  stay  till  I  've  spent  every  last 
solitary  cent." 

"  Of  course  it 's  foolish  and  reckless  and  ex 
travagant,  and  it  takes  my  breath  away,"  said 

[99] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Miss  Delafield,  "  but  I  suppose  there 's  no  use 
arguing  with  you  —  you  're  both  crazy.  Shall 
I  hold  the  lots?" 

She  tore  two  strips  from  a  newspaper,  a  long 
and  a  short  one,  and  folded  them  up  to  the 
same  size.  Then  she  went  behind  the  seat,  and 
arranged  them  in  her  hand.  When  she  came 
back,  she  held  them  out,  saying,  "  The  short 
one  wins." 

The  Whimbrel  drew  one  forth  gingerly,  the 
Whaup  took  the  other.  The  Whimbrel's  was 
the  shorter. 

She  put  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sat  for 
a  moment  without  speaking,  while  the  cashier 
watched  her,  and  the  Whaup's  face  grew  radi 
ant  with  happiness.  When  the  Whimbrel  raised 
her  head,  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  sure  you  were  going  to  get  it, 
Whaup  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  can't  take  it  myself — 
I  don't  want  it  ?  I  would  n't  enjoy  it  one  bit  ! 
It  would  be  so  selfish !  1  wanted  you  to  go  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  the  Whaup  exclaimed.  "  Of 
course  you  '11  go.  You  Ve  simply  got  to  go. 
You  can  write  to  me  every  day,  and  I  '11  enjoy 
it  just  as  much  as  you  do  —  I  '11  enjoy  it  more 
than  if  I  went  myself,  really  !  " 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

"  I  can't  do  it["  the  Whimbrel  moaned. 

"  You  promised,"  said  the  Whaup  sternly. 

"  I  don't  care,  I  never  intended  to  go !  Let 's 
try  it  again  !  " 

"  Pshaw  !  Do  you  think  I  'd  go  ?  I  would  n't 
go  off  alone  for  the  world  !  " 

The  Whimbrel  stared  at  him  sharply.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say,  Whaup,  that  you  were  in 
tending  to  cheat  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  was  ! "  he  affirmed  unblush- 
ingly.  "  I  was  going  to  fix  those  papers  so  that 
you  would  win.  I  guess  we  '11  have  to  give  the 
whole  scheme  up  now." 

"  And  get  married  !  "  the  cashier  exclaimed, 
beaming  at  them. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  Whimbrel  ingenuously, 
"  that  would  be  nicer  than  going  anywhere  in 
the  world !  " 

The  Whaup's  eyes  flashed.  "  Oh,  will  you  ? " 

"You  can  spend  the  pool  on  furniture  ;  that 
will  be  a  very  sensible  thing  to  do,"  Miss  Del- 
afield  added. 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  unfortunate  part  of  it,"  said 
the  Whaup. 

The  little  cashier  looked  mystified. 

The  Whimbrel  laughed.  "  Don't  mind  him, 

[101] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Stella,  dear,  that 's  only  a  part  of  our  short 
hand  talk.  Of  course  you  can't  understand  it. 
But  you  '11  come  with  us  and  help  us  select  the 
furniture,  won't  you,  dear  ?  You  're  so  very 
practical  minded,  it  will  be  a  great  help." 

Stella  laughed.  "  Yes,  I  'm  hopelessly  com 
monplace,  I  know,  but  it 's  a  good  thing  that 
you  blessed  infants  have  some  one  with  com 
mon  sense  to  take  care  of  you." 

They  set  about  the  matter  immediately. 
Miss  Delafield  soon  discovered  for  them  the 
most  amusing  of  little  flats  in  Harlem,  absurdly 
cheap.  The  next  week  was  spent  in  furnishing 
it.  Here  the  cashier's  help  was  mysteriously 
potent.  While  the  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 
spun  their  fanciful  romances  together,  she  drew 
the  salesmen  aside  to  whisper  of  materials  and 
construction  and  prices  —  with  the  result  of 
obtaining  the  most  extraordinary  bargains. 
Everything  was  lovely  and  perfect  in  the 
Whimbrel's  eyes,  and  charmingly  appropriate 
in  the  Whaup's.  But  they  had  to  have  their 
Game,  with  it  all,  and  played  like  children  with 
the  purchases. 

"  There  goes  my  trip  to  Lake  Como,"  said 
the  Whimbrel  mournfully,  as  the  bedroom  set 
[  102] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

was  bought.  Miss  Delafield  had  said  it  was 
stained  birch,  but  it  looked  suspiciously  like 
real  mahogany. 

"  That 's  just  about  the  price  of  a  Mexican 
saddle  and  bridle,"  said  the  Whaup,  when  the 
dining-table  was  paid  for. 

"  Of  course  you  know  it 's  only  machine- 
carved,"  said  Miss  Delafield,  and  the  salesman 
turned  his  back  to  grin. 

There  was  also  a  Persian  rug,  worth  a  week 
on  the  Grand  Canal,  and  a  shaving-stand,  for 
which  the  Whaup  sacrificed  a  journey  to  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado.  The  leaning 
tower  of  Pisa  was  represented  by  a  cheval-glass, 
Pike's  Peak  by  a  copper  lamp.  So  they  sped 
through  those  vast  halls  of  furniture,  from 
Lombardy  to  the  Devil's  Gulch,  as  on  a  magic 
carpet,  leaving  the  poor,  matter-of-fact  little 
cashier  to  trot  along  smilingly  behind. 

It  was  a  ridiculous  honeymoon.  Three  days 
at  Coney  Island  might  seem  tawdry  enough 
to  any  one  except  the  Whaup  and  the  Whim 
brel,  even  though  it  were  spent  with  an  elephant 
trainer's  wife.  But  to  this  childlike  bridal  pair 
the  little  holiday  abounded  in  the  miracles 

C  I03] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

of  the  commonplace.  They  wondered  —  all 
day  long. 

Before  they  returned,  to  begin  the  proud  pro 
prietorship  of  a  home,  to  the  Whaup  came  the 
Whimbrel,  and  inserted  an  affectionate  forefin 
ger  into  the  buttonhole  of  his  coat. 

"  Dear  old  Whaup,"  she  said,  "  don't  you 
think  it  would  be  nice  to  have  Stella  out  to 
dinner  with  us  the  first  time  we  eat  in  the 
flat  ?  She  's  such  a  poor,  lonely  little  thing ; 
she  does  n't  know  hardly  anybody  or  have  any 
where  to  go,  she 's  so  poor,  and  she  has  n't 
even  got  It  to  comfort  her ! " 

"All  right,"  the  Whaup  agreed  ;  "  I  '11  tele 
graph  to  her  to  come  out  to-morrow." 

"  Be  sure  you  don't  by  any  accident  make  the 
message  exactly  ten  words  long,"  said  the  Whim 
brel.  "  She  's  such  a  conventional,  unimagina 
tive  child  that  it 's  always  fun  to  shock  her. 
And  eleven  words  in  a  telegram  does  seem 
terribly  extravagant,  and  it  only  costs  three 
cents  more." 

At  the  little  flat  in  Harlem  a  surprise  awaited 
the  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel  —  a  surprise  so 
magically  magnificent,  so  overpoweringly  won 
derful,  that  they  looked  at  each  other  almost 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

with  fear  and  spoke  in  whispers.  Upon  a  bu 
reau  (in  the  Lake  of  Como)  was  an  envelope 
addressed  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Gow. 

Inside  were  ten  one  hundred  dollar  bills. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  What  does  it  mean  ! 
Who  sent  it  ? "  cried  the  Whimbrel. 

The  Whaup  smiled  and  slapped  the  money 
loftily  in  fine  equanimity,  rising  superbly  to  the 
situation.  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  We  '11  prove 
that  we  're  worthy  of  it  by  taking  it  and  spend 
ing  it,  without  embarrassment  or  question ! 
Listen  here,  dear,  is  n't  this  just  exactly  what 
we  'd  do,  if  we  were  rich  ?  There  's  nothing 
really  surprising  about  it,  is  there  ?  Some  one 
who  knows  us  understands ;  that 's  all  !  Some 
one  is  playing  the  Game  as  we  would  play  it  if 
we  could  ! " 

"  Yes,  somebody  's  got  It ! "  said  the  Whim 
brel,  "but  I  wonder  who  it  can  be !  " 

The  dinner  was  all  ready  when  the  cashier 
came,  and  after  they  had  gone  to  "  Arizona,"  as 
the  Whaup  called  their  tiny  dining-room,  it  was 
the  Whimbrel's  conceit  to  wait  upon  the  two 
together,  as  she  had  so  often  waited  upon  them 
separately,  in  the  downtown  dairy.  For  a  while 
the  Whaup  suffered  her  to  play  out  the  game ; 

[105] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

then,  asserting  his  new  authority,  he  charged  into 
the  toy  kitchen  and  brought  his  wife  back  by 
force.  As  they  sat  over  their  coffee,  he  disclosed 
their  wonderful  good  fortune  to  Miss  Delafield. 

"  Is  n't  it  lovely !  How  are  you  going  to 
spend  it  ? "  she  asked.  Then  she  turned  to  the 
wife.  "  I  suppose  you  '11  take  the  first  boat  to 
Italy,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  "  said  the  Whimbrel. 

"  You  're  going  West  first,  then,"  said  the 
cashier,  turning  to  the  husband. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"The  fact  is,"  the  Whimbrel  sighed,  "we 
don't  want  to  travel,  after  all  —  not  for  a  while 
at  least.  We  're  really  tired  of  travel,  and  we  've 
found  something  so  much  better  right  here  — 
better  than  Italy,  better  than  Colorado,  isn't 
it,  dear  ? " 

"  You  bet  it  is  !  "  cried  the  Whaup. 

They  had  looked  deep  into  each  other's  eyes, 
as  they  spoke,  and  when  at  last  their  glance 
was  freed  from  that  loving  exchange,  they  saw 
that  Miss  Delafield's  mouth  was  trembling. 

The  Whimbrel  sprang  up  and  put  her  arm 
about  the  cashier's  neck,  kissing  her  on  the 
cheek. 

[106] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

"Oh,  you  poor,  dear  thing!"  she  whispered. 
"  Is  n't  it  selfish  of  us  to  be  so  happy  !  I  wish 
we  could  make  you  as  happy  as  we  are ! " 

Miss  Delafield's  smile  came  back  suddenly, 
with  a  flash  that  relieved  the  Whaup's  pertur 
bation.  She  returned  the  Whimbrel's  kiss,  but 
did  not  let  go  the  hand  that  nestled  in  her  own. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  happy,"  she  said.  "  I 
was  sorry  only  because  I  was  afraid  I  might  n't 
see  you  any  more.  I  Ve  given  up  my  position 
at  Deacon  Brothers,  and  I  am  thinking  of  leav 
ing  town." 

The  Whimbrel  looked  at  her  for  a  moment 
in  silence,  then,  releasing  herself,  ran  out  of  the 
room.  She  returned  to  press  a  folded  bank 
note  into  Miss  Delafield's  hand. 

"  You  must  take  this,  and  use  it  for  your  va 
cation.  We  both  want  you  to,  don't  we,  Whaup  ? 
It  would  make  us  unhappy  if  you  did  n't  — 
would  n't  it,  Whaup  ?  You  need  a  good  long 
rest." 

Miss  Delafield  kept  the  bill  and  smiled.  She 
tried  to  speak,  but  it  seemed  impossible. 

Then  the  Whaup  cleared  his  throat;  his 
Adam's  apple  rose  and  fell.  "There's  some 
thing  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  Miss  Delafield,"  he 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

began  solemnly.  "Do  let  me  say  it  now.  I  'm 
sure  you  M  be  much  happier  if  you  did  n't  take 
things  quite  so  seriously.  You  ought  to  try  to 
get  your  mind  out  of  your  matter-of-fact  daily, 
commonplace  routine,  sometimes.  Life  is  n't 
half  so  stupid  as  it  looks ;  if  you  only  look  for 
romance,  you  '11  find  it !  Just  because  you  have 
to  earn  your  living  in  a  humdrum  business,  sur 
rounded  by  common  people  and  dollars  and 
hardware,  you  need  n't  make  life  all  prose ;  if 
you  used  your  imagination  even,  all  that  might 
be  interesting.  If  you  could  only  play  with 
your  world  as  we  play  with  ours,  and  some 
times  get  outside  of  it,  you  'd  find  it  loads  of 
fun!" 

Miss  Delafield  shook  her  head  plaintively. 
"You  know  I  have  no  imagination.  But  I  '11 
try!" 

"  I  wish  I  could  teach  you  to  play  the  Game," 
said  the  Whimbrel, "  but  I  guess  you  have  to 
be  born  with  it." 

Miss  Delafield  bade  them  a  cheerful  good 
night,  insisting  that  the  Whaup  should  not  see 
her  even  to  her  car.  Then,  after  their  visitor 
had  gone,  the  little  Whimbrel  climbed  into  her 
husband's  lap  and  put  her  two  red  lips  to  his  ear. 
[108] 


The  Whaup  and  the  Whimbrel 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  'm  so  fond  of  Stella, 
dear  ?  Do  you  know  why  I  wanted  her  here 
to-night  ?  "  she  whispered. 

The  Whaup  shook  his  head  as  well  as  he 
could,  in  the  circumstances,  for  there  were  two 
arms  about  his  neck. 

"  It 's  because  I  think  she 's  in  love  with  you, 

you  dear  old  Whaup !    I  was  so  sorry  for  her 

—  not  the  least  bit  jealous,  of  course,  for  she 

has  n't  got  It,  has  she  ?    Not   the    least  little 

bit ! " 

"  No,  I  'm  sorry  for  her  too  —  if  she  could 
only  play  the  Game  !  " 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"  Look  at  that  carriage  driving  away  !  "  he 
exclaimed  suddenly.  "It  must  have  been  wait 
ing  at  one  of  these  houses.  I  wonder  if  it's 
a  brougham  !  I  was  never  quite  sure  what  a 
brougham  was."  Then  his  voice  grew  melo 
dramatic. 

"In  that  brougham,  dear,  —  I  'm  sure  it 's  a 
brougham,  —  perhaps  there  is  a  wonderfully 
rich  young  girl,  beautiful,  and  full  of  spirit, 
going  out  on  some  thrilling  adventure  ! " 

"  Perhaps  she  's  coming  back  from  one,"  sug 
gested  the  Whimbrel. 


IV 

The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

MISS  MILLION  was  always  fond  of 
East    Twenty-Third  Street,  the   busy, 
agitated  link   between    the   East   and 
West  Sides.   She  picked  out  No.  in,  an  old-fash 
ioned  three-story  bouse,  back  from  the  street,  long 
before  she  knew  precisely  how,  in  her  scheme  of 
adventure,  to  make  use  of  it. 

A  sight,  one  day,  of  the  maiden  lady,  Miss 
Henrietta  Hooper,  seated,  embroidering,  at  the 
upper  window,  bad  fixed  Miss  Million's  attention, 
and  seeing  the  same  queer  original  figure  always  on 
the  lookout,  during  subsequent  weeks,  Miss  Mil 
lion  decided  to  make,  in  some  way,  her  acquaintance. 
It  did  not  take  long  to  arrive  at  a  plan. 

She  took  several  lessons  from  a  manicure,  and 
—  this  story  tells  the  rest. 

Miss  Million  still,  of  course,  occupied  her  apart 
ments  in  East  Fifty-Eighth  Street,  and  I  was  kept 
busy  enough,  you  may  imagine,  shopping  for  her, 
for  Miss  Hooper  s  benefit. 

[in] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

/  myself^  diverted  by  my  patroness's  stories, 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Captain  Eildad,  and  did 
not  a  little,  behind  the  scenes ',  to  encourage  him  in 
his  love  affair.  It  was  my  rare  pleasure  to  stuff 
his  pocket^  that  day,  at  Miss  Million's  request, 
and  subsequently  to  stand  in  the  Little  Church 
Around  the  Corner,  as  best  man,  with  this  eccen 
tric  pair. 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

BUSINESS  was  not  very  brisk  at  Miss 
Mary  Mott's  Manicure  Parlors,  at  No. 
1 1 1  East  Twenty-Third  Street.  It  had 
not  as  yet  been  worth  Miss  Mott's  while  to 
engage  the  services  of  an  assistant.  Her  parlors 
were  fitted  up  with  a  quiet,  tasteful  elegance 
uncommon  in  such  places.  Her  instruments 
were  of  ivory  and  gold,  her  perfumes,  polishes, 
and  powders  were  all  imported.  Her  chairs, 
tables,  and  screens  were  of  an  expensive  sim 
plicity. 

Miss  Mott  herself,  ladylike,  smartly  dressed, 
petite,  gracile,  and  graceful,  had  personality,  and 
something  of  that  distinction  and  attractiveness 
that  full-length  portraits  show.  Her  small  head 
was  poised  aristocratically  upon  a  slender,  well- 
formed  neck.  Her  hands  were  small,  delicate, 
and  clever,  strongly  expressive  in  their  light, 
fairy-like  gestures.  Her  quick  smile  registered 
all  shades  of  mirth,  from  glee  to  that  quiet 
humor  which  lies  nearest  pathos.  She  was  only 

["3] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

twenty-three,  full  of  a  fine,  urgent  joy  of  youth, 
spirited,  proud,  sympathetic  in  every  tone  of 
her  musical  voice. 

As  she  stood,  one  morning,  at  the  long  front 
windows  of  her  parlors  on  the  first  floor,  she 
heard  behind  her  some  one  coughing  with  an 
old-fashioned  affectation.  She  turned  to  see  a 
woman,  who,  but  for  the  girlish  elasticity  of 
her  carriage  and  the  freshness  of  her  com 
plexion,  would  be  called  a  typical  "  old  maid." 
She  was,  at  all  events,  indubitably  a  spinster 
of  forty-odd  years,  with  twinkling  eyes,  and  a 
heavy  mass  of  grayish  hair,  held  in  place  by 
a  complicated  system  of  interweavings,  rather 
than  by  hairpins.  She  had  a  general  air  of 
eccentricity  that  was  specialized,  perhaps,  only 
in  her  basque,  which  was  fastened  down  the 
front  with  a  close  row  of  small  metal  buttons. 
At  the  appearance  of  this  visitor,  Miss  Mott 
smiled  a  frank  welcome. 

"  I  calculated  it  was  about  time  to  drop  in 
and  see  you,  Miss  Mott,  bein'  as  we  're  neigh 
bors  under  the  same  roof.  Henrietta  Hooper  's 
my  name,"  said  the  caller. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  to  see  you  !  "  said  Miss 
Mott.  "  You  're  the  lady  who  does  the  wonder- 
["4] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

ful  linen  embroidery,  on  the  top  floor,  are  n't 
you?" 

"Well,  I  must  say  I  prefer  to  be  known 
by  other  things  than  that !  "  said  Henrietta 
Hooper  spicily.  "  I  'm  a  human  bein',  same 
as  the  rest,  I  expect,  and  I  always  expect  to  be 
treated  as  such.  But  I  ain't  got  no  call  to  com 
plain  ;  I  make  a  livin',  and  if  you  Ve  got  ta 
work,  you  Ve  got  to  be  branded  by  it,  I  s'pose. 
But  land !  how  slick  you  Ve  got  it  fixed  up 
here !  Them  tablecloths  of  yourn  must  have 
cost  you  a  sight  of  money  !  Business  good  ?  I 
expect  you  have  your  streaks  of  fat  and  lean 
like  the  rest  of  us.  I  never  was  in  a  man-i-cure 
place  before  —  looks  some  like  a  barber  shop, 
don't  it?  What's  all  them  little  jiggers  for, 
anyway  ? " 

"  Do  let  me  show  you,  Miss  Hooper.  I  'd 
love  to  explain  it  all,  and  you  have  such  beau 
tiful  hands,  it  will  give  me  a  great  deal  of  plea 
sure  to  do  your  nails." 

"  I  don't  know  but  what  I  will,"  said  Miss 
Hooper.  "  It  won't  do  me  no  harm  to  rest  a 
little  while,  and  it  '11  give  us  a  chance  to  have 
a  dish  of  conversation.  I  go  as  crazy  as  a  cat 
when  I  can't  talk.  I  do  hope  you  're  goin'  to  be 

["5] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

real  neighborly.  There  ain't  been  a  woman  in 
this  house  since  the  two  Cubans  left,  and  that 
artist  on  the  second  floor  is  so  pernickerty  I 
hate  to  speak  to  him." 

Miss  Mott  sat  down  at  the  table  in  front 
of  her  guest,  and  began  to  soak  and  scrape  and 
pare  and  snip  and  file  and  wipe  and  rub  and  pol 
ish,  asking  a  question,  now  and  then,  to  draw 
Miss  Hooper  out.  It  was  not  difficult.  The 
spinster  watched  the  process,  losing  no  detail, 
making  many  humorous  comments  upon  the 
work. 

"  It  seems  kind  of  dark  and  dull  down  here," 
she  said.  "  Now  I  do  admire  a  top  floor,  where 
you  can  see  what 's  goin'  on.  I  spend  most  of 
my  time  at  the  window,  and  I  've  got  to  know 
everybody  on  the  block,  and  I  Ve  given  'em 
my  own  names.  I  don't  s'pose  I  know  more  'n 
six  people  in  New  York  to  speak  to,  but  I  like 
to  pretend  I  recognize  every  one  that  comes  by. 
The  forewoman  at  the  shop  where  I  sell  my 
embroideries  thinks  I  'm  cracked  because  I  like 
to  dress  up  in  my  best  whether  I  see  anybody 
or  not.  You  ought  to  see  a  nightgown  I  made 
—  it's  lovely!  I  only  wear  it  once  a  month 
and  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  but  it 's  a  great 
[116] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

comfort  to  have  something  nice,  even  if  it  ain't 
seen,  don't  you  think  so?  They  might  be  a 
fire  or  something  —  but,  Lord  !  I  suppose  I  'd 
have  on  an  old  one,  if  it  did  come  !  I  do  ad 
mire  linen  sheets,  too,  and  I  'm  savin'  up  to  get 
me  a  pair.  It 's  the  little  things  that  count  in  a 
woman's  life ;  I  can  do  without  the  big  ones 
well  enough.  I  never  had  a  piece  of  real  lace 
in  my  life,  but  some  time  I  'm  goin'  to  buy  a 
handkerchief  that  is  a  handkerchief.  Perhaps 
I  may  accidentally  drop  it  somewheres,  and 
who  knows  but  it  '11  be  noticed  ?  Lord,  if  you 
knew  how  I  hated  cotton !  It  seems  a  sin  to 
spend  money  for  things  that  are  too  good  to 
use,  but  it 's  a  heap  of  satisfaction  to  know  that 
something 's  right,  even  if  it 's  only  seen  by  the 
washwoman  ! " 

"  I  s'pose  you  must  have  wondered  some  at 
seem'  me  get  so  many  letters  reg'lar,"  she  said 
at  last,  tentatively. 

"Why,  yes,"  Miss  Mott  replied,  adding  pink 
to  Henrietta's  nails,  "  I  Ve  noticed  them  every 
morning  on  the  hall  stand." 

"  I  do  get  considerable  mail,"  said  Hen 
rietta,  with  a  self-satisfied  smile.  "  They  pes 
ter  me  sometimes,  but  it's  company  for  me, 

["7] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

too,  I  'm  alone  so  much ;  I  don't  see  many 
folks." 

"  They  seem  to  be  mostly  addressed  in  a 
man's  handwriting,"  Miss  Mott  ventured,  see 
ing  that  her  friend  was  waxing  confidential. 

"  My  dear,"  cried  Henrietta,  with  a  burst  of 
apparently  long  pent-up  feeling,  "  the  way  that 
man  is  persecutin'  me  would  make  your  hair 
stand  on  end!  If  you  only  knew !  It's  been 
goin'  on  for  some  time  now,  and  I  can't  per 
suade  him  to  let  me  alone,  no  way  in  the  world ! 
Where  it  '11  end,  I  don't  know,  nor  can  I  ima- 
gine!" 

"  You  poor  thing  !  "  said  Miss  Mott.  "  I  'd 
never  think  you  had  an  enemy  in  the  world ! " 

Henrietta  Hooper  dropped  her  voice  to  a 
whisper.  "  Enemy  ?  Why,  he  's  dead  in  love 
with  me,  Miss  Mott,  believe  it  or  not,  as  you 
see  fit.  He  's  simply  crazy  about  me  —  did  you 
ever?  He's  so  violent,  sometimes,  I  've  been 
afraid  I  'd  have  to  have  him  arrested  and  locked 
up.  But  somehow  I  can't  help  pityin'  him,  and 
you  know  it  does  flatter  a  woman  to  have  a  man 
take  on  about  her.  If  you  could  just  hear  one 
of  his  letters,  you  'd  throw  a  fit !  " 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  see  one  !  "  Miss  Mott  begged 
[118] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

shamelessly,  taking  the  cue.  "  I  Ve  always 
wanted  to  hear  a  really  good  love-letter  —  men 
are  usually  so  silly  about  it." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to,"  Henrietta 
said,  pursing  her  red  lips,  "  but  seein'  as  I  've 
never  laid  eyes  on  the  man,  I  don't  know  why 
I  'm  bound  to  keep  his  confidence." 

"  You  Ve  never  seen  him  ?  Why,  how  does 
he  know  you,  then  ?  "  Miss  Mott  exclaimed. 

Henrietta  replied  coyly.  "  Why,  it  seems 
he  's  seen  me  workin'  in  my  window.  You  know 
I  sit  there  mostly,  and  he  was  smitten,  so  he 
says  ;  though  you  can't  never  believe  a  man's 
word.  Anyway,  he  found  out  my  name  some 
how.  I  'm  scared  to  death  for  fear  he  '11  come 
blunderin'  in,  some  day,  and  want  to  see  me, 
and  insist  on  my  marryin'  him  on  the  spot. 
Imagine !  I  '11  just  read  you  a  little,  to  show 
you  what  a  born  fool  the  critter  is." 

She  drew  a  sheet  of  folded  commercial  note- 
paper  from  her  basque  and  began  to  read  aloud : 

"  f  My  heart  is  a  hurricane  of  thwarted  pas 
sion  and  wild  yearning,  and  unless  you  consent 
to  be  mine,  all  hell  cannot  keep  me  from  you.' 
.  .  .  H'm!  Well,  I  '11  skip  this,  it's  all  about 
my  eyes,  'orbs,'  he  calls  'em  —  a  lot  be  knows; 

["9] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

then  there  's  a  mess  of  poppy-cock  about  *  fairy 
fingers,  fanciful  and  fine.'  .  .  .  Oh,  yes,  here  it 
is  ...  'Woman,  wildly  as  I  adore  you,  wor 
ship  you,  I  cannot  longer  wait,  weary  and 
wretched  in  my  woe !  Rather  shall  I  stab  you 
to  the  heart  and  turn  the  same  knife  upon 
myself,  than  see  your  charms  reveled  in  by 
another.'  .  .  .  What  d'  you  think  of  that  I 
Ain't  it  awful?" 

"  My !  It  is  exciting,"  said  the  manicure. 
"  Nobody  ever  loved  me  like  that !  " 

"  Oh,  they  may,  by  the  time  you  get  to  be 
my  age,"  said  Henrietta  complacently.  "  But 
it 's  terrible  to  be  loved  like  that,  though  !  I 
don't  know  what  I  'm  a-goin'  to  do.  Mortimer 
Elphinstone,  his  name  is  —  genteel,  ain't  it? 
Imagine  me  as  Mrs.  Elphinstone !  I  guess  not 
much ! " 

She  arose,  and  examined  her  finger-nails  with 
pride.  "  They  do  look  elegant,  don't  they  ? 
I  had  no  idea  they  could  be  made  to  look  so 
pretty.  But  you  must  let  me  pay  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  've  more  than  paid  me  already," 
said  Miss  Mott.    "  If  you  '11  only  drop  in  often 
and  tell  me  how  your  love  affair  is  going  on, 
I  '11  call  it  square." 
[120] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

"  I  will.  I  'm  so  glad  to  have  some  one  to 
talk  to  about  it,  but  I  hope  you  won't  think 
I  'm  silly,"  said  Henrietta  Hooper,  as  she  went 
upstairs. 

Miss  Mott  sat  down  to  her  desk  telephone  and 
rang  up  for  a  sprightly,  excited  conversation  with 
some  one  whom  she  addressed  as  Mr.  Rayne. 

Henrietta  Hooper  came  bustling  into  the 
manicure  parlors  the  next  morning,  in  high 
feather.  "What  d'  you  think!  "  she  announced. 
"If  this  don't  beat  the  Dutch  !  Just  you  look 
at  what  came  for  me  this  morning,  from  Heaven 
knows  who !  " 

She  opened  a  pretty  pasteboard  box  and  ex 
hibited  her  gift.  It  was  a  delicate  blue  Liberty 
silk  peignoir,  embroidered  in  odd,  elaborate  pat 
terns,  of  a  spider-web  fineness,  and  exquisitely 
fagoted  along  the  seams. 

"  I  '11  bet  that  cost  forty  dollars,  if  it  cost 
a  cent !  I  'd  like  to  know  who  was  fool  enough 
to  send  it  to  an  old  maid  like  me.  Why,  it 's 
fit  for  a  wedding  outfit !  But  it  '11  be  lovely  to 
put  on  when  I  sit  in  the  window  ! " 

"Why,  it's  from  Mr.  Elphinstone,  isn't 
it?"  Miss  Mott  asked. 

[121] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  Mortimer  Elphinstone  ?  Not  he  !  He  's 
as  poor  as  Job's  cat.  Why,  he  wrote  me  only 
t'  other  day  that  he  was  *  rich  only  in  the  royal 
wealth  of  his  lurid  love  of  you,  but  therein  a 
rival  of  dukes  and  emperors.'  Or,  leastways, 
that 's  as  near  as  I  can  recall  his  nonsense.  No, 
siree,  Bob  !  It 's  from  somebody  that  has  sense 
enough  to  know  that  actions  speak  louder  than 
words.  There  's  two  of  'em  after  me  now  — 
ain't  it  ridiculous  ?  " 

The  next  morning  she  appeared,  wildly  ex 
cited,  with  another  tribute  from  her  mysterious 
admirer,  this  time  a  pair  of  white  velvet,  fur- 
trimmed  bedroom  slippers.  On  the  third  day  a 
little  trunk  filled  with  cut-glass  bottles  of  French 
perfumes  appeared,  and  Henrietta  Hooper's 
wonder  grew. 

Every  day  after  that  a  new  present  appeared, 
and  the  collection  now  began  to  transform  her 
dingy  bedroom  into  the  aspect  of  something 
like  the  boudoir  of  a  mondame^  without  any  clue 
appearing  to  solve  the  secret  of  its  origin.  A 
dozen  silk  stockings  of  various  soft  colors  was 
followed  by  silk  scarves,  bathrobes,  and  soft 
Turkish  towels.  Then  came  cases  of  expensive 
stationery,  embossed  with  a  quaint  monogram, 
[  122] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

a  fleecy  feather  boa,  a  bunch  of  beautiful  shaded 
green  ostrich  plumes,  white  kid  gloves  by  the 
dozen,  Duchesse  lace  handkerchiefs  by  the  box, 
huge  bunches  of  violets,  tins  of  chocolates  and 
marrons  g!acesy  veils,  orchids,  and  lingerie  —  a 
succession  of  wonderful,  extravagant  luxuries 
heretofore  unthought  of  by  the  modest,  hard 
working  spinster,  but  each  gift  a  delight  to  her 
imaginative,  romantic  soul. 

For  a  while  her  surprise  exhausted  her.  She 
lost  herself  in  a  thousand  speculations,  invent 
ing  theories  that  included  as  hero  every  man 
she  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of.  She  found  no 
explanation  of  her  good  fortune  too  wild  to 
consider  seriously  with  the  manicure,  as  she 
came,  day  after  day,  to  exhibit  her  marvelous 
gifts.  Finally,  she  gave  up  the  problem,  as  one 
gives  up  the  miracles  of  a  prestidigitateur.  Her 
gifts  appeared  out  of  Nowhere,  as  if  drawn,  by 
weird  conjury,  from  some  invisible  magic  hat. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Miss  Mott  had 
another  visitor.  He  was  a  big,  burly,  bearded 
stranger,  dressed  in  a  blue  double-breasted 
reefer,  loud  of  speech  and  laughter,  awkward 
and  jovial.  He  stuck  his  head  in  the  door- 

I:"!] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

way  one  afternoon  and  looked  smilingly  into 
the  room.  Then,  pulling  off  his  derby  hat,  he 
entered,  as  if  wading  through  water  up  to  his 
knees. 

"  How  de  do  ?  "  he  said  sheepishly. 

Miss  Mott  returned  his  greeting  with  a  gay 
<c  Good  afternoon,"  and  awaited  his  next  re 
mark. 

"  I  just  come  in  to  see  what  this  joint  was 
like,"  he  explained,  twirling  his  hat  in  his 
hands.  "  I  thought  maybe  I  'd  try  a  shot 
myself,  if  it  did  n't  cost  too  much." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  manicured  ? "  she 
asked,  getting  a  table  ready  and  turning  on  an 
electric  light  over  it. 

"  Say,  what 's  the  little  game  anyway  ?  Does 
it  hurt  ? "  he  inquired,  looking  at  the  knives 
and  scissors  suspiciously. 

Miss  Mott  smiled,  and  it  seemed  to  reassure 
him. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  went  on,  eyeing  her  prepa 
rations,  "  I  see  your  sign  in  the  window,  and  it 
was  a  new  one  on  me,  so  I  asked  a  cop  what 
was  a  manicure,  and  he  tips  me  a  wink  and  says, 
•'  It 's  a  place  where  a  pretty  girl  holds  your  hands 
while  you  jolly  her.'  'That's  about  my  size,' 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

says  I,  so  in  I  come  !  But  I  guess  I  made  a 
mistake,  probably,  and  I  beg  your  pardon, 
miss.  Don't  take  it  ill  of  me  —  but  I  expect 
I  'd  better  steam  out." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  'd  better  stay,  now  you  've 
come,"  said  Miss  Mott  pleasantly.  "  Let  me 
see  your  fingers." 

He  held  to  her,  without  embarrassment,  a 
pair  of  hands  whose  stumpy  fingers  were 
stained  with  tar,  pitch,  and  dirt,  and  seared  with 
scars.  His  nails  were  indescribable.  Miss  Mott 
laughed. 

"  I  '11  do  what  I  can  with  them,"  she  said, 
"  but  you  '11  have  to  come  in  several  times, 
I  'm  afraid,  before  I  can  make  them  look  very 
well." 

He  laughed  so  jocundly  as  to  shake  the 
chandelier  while  she  placed  the  ends  of  his  fin 
gers  in  the  bowl  of  lemon  water.  Then  he 
leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  proceeded 
to  enjoy  the  situation. 

"  I  s'pose  these  here  dudes  come  in  here  to 
be  scraped  up  and  holystoned  quite  often, 
don't  they  ?  "  he  remarked.  "  I  don't  know 
as  I  mind  being  overhauled  myself,  once  in  a 
while,  now  I  'm  onto  the  game.  But  I  never 

[125] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

washed  my  hands  in  lemonade  before.  Beats 
soft-soap  all  to  pieces,  don't  it !  " 

"  So  you  're  a  sailor  ? "  said  the  manicure. 

"  Tug  f  Emmy  Lou/  laid  up  for  repairs,  at 
present,"  he  answered.  "  Say,  if  you  ever  want 
to  take  a  trip  down  the  harbor,  come  down  to 
Pier  467  and  ask  for  Cap'm  Bildad  Cushman, 
and  I  '11  show  you  blue  water.  Let  you  take  a 
trick  at  the  wheel,  too." 

The  manicure's  task  was  well-nigh  hopeless, 
but  at  length  she  had  finished  her  beginning — 
"  polishing  the  brasswork,"  he  called  it.  As 
she  came  to  an  end,  he  remarked  in  an  embar 
rassed  tone :  — 

"  I  say,  miss,  does  there  happen  to  be  a  lady 
living  here  by  the  name  of  Hooper  ?  I  've  been 
rooming  over  to  the  starboard  side  of  the  street, 
abaft  here,  and  I  Ve  seen  somebody  going  in 
and  coming  out  occasionally  that  looks  power 
fully  like  a  girl  I  used  to  know  in  New  Bed 
ford,  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Why,  yes,  Miss  Henrietta  Hooper — she 's 
a  great  friend  of  mine,"  said  the  manicure. 

"  Well,  don't  that  beat  all ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  used  to  know  Henny  Hooper  when  she 
was  the  worst  out-and-out  tomboy  on  Buz- 
[126] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

zard's  Bay !  She  was  a  queer  one,  all  the  time 
up  to  some  monkey-trick  or  other.  Full  of  the 
devil.  I  expect  she 's  sobered  down,  though, 
by  this  time.  I  see  she  has  gray  hair.  I  'd  like 
to  hail  her  !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  up  and  call  on  her  ? " 
asked  Miss  Mott.  "  She  lives  on  the  top 
floor,  front,  and  I  'm  sure  she  '11  be  glad  to  see 
an  old  friend.  Do  go  up  and  speak  to  her,  and 
then  come  back  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  I  will,  by  Jupiter ! "  he  vociferated,  and 
laughed  a  hearty  laugh.  Within  five  minutes 
he  was  stumbling  up  the  stairway. 

Now,  Miss  Henrietta  Hooper  lived  in  a 
front  alcoved  room  on  the  third  floor;  and  as 
the  other  lodgers  were  away  from  home  all 
day,  she  usually  left  her  door  wide  open.  The 
captain,  therefore,  upon  arriving  at  the  upper 
landing,  had  a  view  of  the  spinster  and  her 
apartment  before  she  was  aware  of  his  visit. 
He  stood  for  several  moments,  transfixed  with 
admiration,  before  announcing  his  presence. 

She  was  seated  by  the  window,  dressed  in  a 
long,  delicately,  softly  clinging  blue  silk  peignoir, 
elegantly  trimmed  with  lace.  She  had  a  red 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

rose  stuck  coquettishly  in  her  hair,  the  sister  to 
those  filling  a  bowl  upon  the  table.  About  her 
shoulders  was  thrown  a  Liberty  silk  scarf,  dotted 
with  Dresden  roses.  Her  careless  pose  per 
mitted  a  discreet  vision  of  green  silk  stockings 
and  a  pair  of  dainty,  fur- trimmed  white  velvet 
slippers.  The  picture  was  completed  by  an 
Angora  cat,  the  latest  of  Miss  Hooper's  gifts, 
which  leaped  in  gay  abandon  upon  the  floor. 

So  much,  Miss  Mott,  tiptoeing  after  Captain 
Bildad,  saw  from  behind  his  back.  Then  she 
discreetly  retired,  to  await  his  report  in  her  par 
lors  below. 

He  came  back,  roaring  jubilantly,  "  I  done 
it,  and  she  's  the  self-same  one  I  used  to  hook 
Jack  with  from  the  brick  schoolhouse !  Say, 
she  's  high  and  mighty  now,  though,  ain't  she ! 
She  's  full-rigged  and  ship-shape,  she  is !  Gosh ! 
I  was  almost  afraid  to  brace  her,  with  her  silks 
and  satins  and  her  doo-dads  and  what-you-call- 
'em's,  all  over  cologne  and  truck.  But  I  got 
over  that !  We  got  on  fine  !  "  He  stopped  to 
bellow. 

"  Say,  miss,  she  's  got  a  fellow  —  did  you 
know  that  ?  Sure  !  She  told  me  all  about  it, 
and  showed  me  some  letters  that  read  like  a 
[128] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

page  out  of  a  dime  novel !  Think  of  Henny 
Hooper  being  made  love  to  by  a  crazy  man 
like  that !  And  she  likes  it  —  I  '11  be  keel 
hauled  if  she  don't !  But  pshaw !  I  got  a  game 
worth  ten  of  that  big  talk.  There 's  others  that 
are  after  Hen  Hooper  and  can  make  good  all 
right,  you  bet !  I  reckon  she  won't  throw  down 
a  man  what 's  been  sending  her  a  new  present 
every  day  for  a  fortnight ! " 

"  Oh,  you  're  the  one,  then !  "  cried  Miss 
Mott,  almost  exploding  with  laughter.  "  I  'm 
glad  to  know  where  they  've  been  coming  from." 

"  I  'm  the  mysterious  stranger,"  he  thundered, 
and  burst  his  sides  with  the  convulsions  of 
his  mirth.  "  I  'm  going  for  to  give  that  Mor 
timer  Elphingstone  a  run  for  bis  money;  you 
wait !  If  I  can't  put  up  a  game  to  beat  a  lubber 
like  that,  I  'm  a  dub  at  the  game  which  is  a  sail 
or's  pride  and  joy.  Any  man  that  can  handle 
a  wheel  can  handle  a  woman,  my  dad  used  to 
say." 

"  So  you  're  really  in  love  with  Henrietta  ? " 
Miss  Mott  asked. 

"  If  she  's  good  enough  for  Mortimer  El 
phingstone,  she  's  good  enough  for  me,  miss ! 
When  I  first  sighted  her,  I  says  to  myself,  says 

[129] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

I,  '  It 's  time  to  heave  your  anchor,  cap'n  ; 
your  time  has  came  ! '  And  have  her  I  will. 
She  'd  make  a  first-rate  mate.  Yes,  I  'm  for 
her  !  And  she  's  answered  my  signals  already." 

"  I  'm  with  you  !  "  said  the  manicure.  "  I 
never  did  like  that  Mr.  Elphinstone,  and  I  '11 
help  you  all  I  can." 

"  Say,  will  you  stand  by  me,  sure  ? "  he  asked, 
grinning.  "  If  you  pass  me  a  cable,  you  can 
tow  me  into  an  anchorage  easy  !  She  '11  be 
Mrs.  Cap'm  Bildad  Cushman  before  she  's  a 
year  older,  or  I  '11  go  back  to  whaling  again. 
Well,  farewell.  I  'm  a-going  to  clap  on  all  sail 
and  run  her  down  !  " 

He  called  daily  after  that,  and  usually,  com 
ing  down  from  upstairs,  dropped  in  upon  his 
new  friend  and  ally,  the  manicure,  to  report 
progress.  Miss  Hooper,  it  appeared  from  his 
accounts,  was  uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please. 
She  held  Mortimer  Elphinstone  over  the  cap 
tain's  head,  and  persisted  in  reading  her  per- 
fervid  lover's  missives  to  the  scornful  seaman. 
The  captain  fumed,  and  pleaded  his  suit  with 
gentle  persistence,  but  made  slow  progress. 
Her  appreciation  of  the  presents,  however,  was 
cordial. 
[ 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

Miss  Hooper,  coming  down  occasionally  to 
be  manicured  and  to  gossip,  gave  her  version 
of  the  affair  as  follows  :  — 

"He  ain't  at  all  what  I  'd  call  an  ardent 
wooer,  Miss  Mott;  he  's  a  little  bit  too  meek 
and  mild,  sometimes,  and  he  will  call  me  *  Miss 
Henny'!  He 's  a  gentle  soul,  and  I  like  him, 
but  I  do  believe  he's  afraid  of  me.  Now  Mor 
timer  Elphinstone,  he  's  the  sassy  kind ;  he  's 
as  bold  as  the  bulls  of  Bashan  !  My,  he  'd 
think  no  more  of  knocking  me  down,  I  s'pose, 
if  he  once  got  his  dander  up,  than  he  would 
of  giving  me  a  kiss  !  I  must  say  there  's  a  sort 
of  fascination  about  a  masterful  man,  somehow, 
though  I  can't  bear  real  brutality.  The  cap'm 
does  make  love  beautiful,  but  somehow  they 
ain't  no  ginger  to  it.  I  suppose  I  am  a  fool, 
but  I  do  love  to  see  a  man  get  mad,  once  in  a 
while.  Mr.  Elphinstone  's  gettin'  terrible  jeal 
ous,  Miss  Mott,  and  I  'm  mortal  afraid  there  '11 
be  some  trouble  if  he  ever  encounters  Cap'm 
Bildad." 

"  Say,  you  must  be  doin'  well,  Miss  Mott," 
she  added.  "  I  see  you  comin'  and  goin'  in  a 
carriage  several  times  lately." 

"  Oh,  I  go  out  to  my  customers  —  they  send 

['3'] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

down  their  carriages,  that's  all,"  Miss  Mott 
explained. 

"  I  don't  see  many  customers  comin'  in  here," 
Miss  Hooper  continued.  "  It  beats  me  to  see 
how  you  make  a  livin'  doin'  finger-nails." 

"  I  have  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  it,  anyway,"  said 
the  manicure. 

The  captain's  course  of  true  love  that  day 
ran  upon  an  uncharted  reef.  He  appeared  in 
great  distress  to  ask  Miss  Mott's  advice. 

"  What  d'  you  think  ? "  he  demanded. 
"  Henny  's  all  down  in  the  mouth  and  flying 
signals  of  distress  because  she  ain't  received  a 
present  for  three  days !  Ain't  that  ungrateful 
of  her  ?  She 's  got  so  used  to  'em,  she  's  spoiled. 
I  s'pose  I  '11  have  to  humor  her.  What 's  a  good 
thing  to  get  for  a  lady,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  believe  Henrietta's  toilet  articles 
are  n't  very  swell.  Why  don't  you  get  a  nice, 
pretty  brush  and  comb  ? "  Miss  Mott  sug 
gested. 

"  That 's  fine.  I  '11  do  it ! "  said  the  captain, 
and  departed  on  the  quest. 

Henrietta  Hooper  showed  Miss  Mott  the 
result  next  morning.  She  entered  the  manicure 
[  13*] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

parlor  with  an  expression  halfway  between  scorn 
and  mirth,  laying  an  object  upon  the  table  with 
out  comment. 

It  was  a  box,  the  exterior  of  which,  so  far  as 
velvet,  satin,  and  stamped  aluminum  could  make 
it,  was  like  a  heavy  tome.  Across  its  back  was 
printed  in  gold  script  the  title,  "  History  of 
Rome."  Opening  the  tiny,  ineffectual  clasp, 
Miss  Mott  beheld,  lying  in  state,  as  if  in  a  pink 
silk-padded  casket,  a  yellow  brush  and  a  yellow 
celluloid  comb.  They  were  elaborately  mottled 
to  resemble  onyx,  or  maybe  chalcedony  — 
something,  at  least,  which  they  obviously  were 
not  and  could  not  be,  nor  should  be,  if  they 
could.  Across  the  broad  blue  ribbon  which 
bound  them  in  was  painted,  in  floriated  letters, 
the  words  "  For  Remembrance." 

"  How  could  he  !  How  could  he  !  "  Henri 
etta  moaned. 

Miss  Mott  stared,  overcome  with  a  mirth, 
too  great  for  expression.  "  Oh,  captain,  my 
captain  !  "  she  repeated,  when  she  was  able  to 
speak. 

"What  can  I  do?"  said  Henrietta.  "I  can't 
say  I  like  it,  can  I  ?  And  I  can't  say  what  I  do 
think  about  it !  I  don't  see  how  he  should  have 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

got  this  thing,  after  all  the  lovely  presents  he 
has  given  me — just  exactly  the  things  I  wanted 
—  the  things  a  woman  would  buy  !  They  were 
all  so  lovely !  But  this  contraption  would  scare 
Old  Nick  himself!  " 

"  I  'm  sure  Mortimer  Elphinstone  would 
have  had  better  taste,"  said  Miss  Mott. 

"  Indeed  he  would  !  He  's  always  been  so 
refined  and  elegant,  whatever  threats  he  has 
made  —  I  '11  say  that  for  him  !  " 

"  It  may  be  a  mistake.  You  *d  better  wait 
till  you  're  sure,"  was  Miss  Mott's  advice. 

But  it  was  no  mistake.  The  unhappy  cap 
tain  went  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire. 
His  next  attempt  was  a  lamp — such  a  lamp  as 
many  a  bride  has  blushed  for  and  wept  over. 
This  met  with  a  cool  reception  from  Henrietta 
Hooper,  who  eyed  him  severely  now  when  he 
called.  He  tried  again  wildly  to  retrieve  his 
unconscious  blunders,  and  beguiled  by  the  ad 
vice  of  some  friendly  bookseller's  clerk,  sent 
his  inamorata  a  volume  of  "  The  Wit  and 
Humor  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  bound  in  half 
calf.  Even  this  refined  offering  failed  to  please. 

He  complained  bitterly  to  Miss  Mott  of  his 
ill  success.  "  I  'm  going  to  chuck  it  up !  "  he 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

thundered.  "  If  she  don't  like  what  I  get,  she 
can  throw  it  overboard  !  Here  I  Ve  lost  all  the 
headway  I  've  made,  and  thirty  dollars  besides  ! 
Just  as  I  was  making  up  my  mind  to  settle 
down,  too  !  She  can  go  and  take  that  Elphing- 
stone  man  she  's  all  the  time  throwing  up  at 
me.  No,  by  Gripes,  I  '11  have  her !  I  Ve  just 
got  to  have  Henny,  Miss  Mott !  Can't  you 
throw  me  a  line  and  help  me  out  ? " 

"  I  could  show  you  how  in  two  minutes,  but 
you  'd  never  do  it." 

"  Why  would  n't  I  ?  Don't  I  think  the 
world  of  Henny?  I  'd  do  anything  —  crawl 
on  my  hands  and  knees,  lick  her  boots  —  any 
thing  !  " 

"  But  that 's  just  exactly  what  you  must  n't 
do  !  You  see,  captain,  the  trouble  is,  you  've 
been  a  little  too  gentle.  You  've  been  afraid 
of  her.  What  she  wants  is  to  be  bullied  and 
ordered  about  and  frightened  half  to  death. 
Can  you  do  that  ?  " 

Captain  Bildad  chuckled  till  his  sides  shook 
in  spasms.  "  Can  I  do  it  ?  Can  I  do  it  ?  Me, 
Cap'm  Bildad  Cushman  of  the  f  Emmy  Lou  '  ? 
Come  down  to  the  water-front  and  ask  my  mate  ! 
Ask  in  any  sailor  boarding-house  !  Of  course  I 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

ain't  exactly  used  to  treating  women-folks  that 
way,  but  if  that 's  all  she  wants,  by  the  Lord 
Harry,  / '//  frighten  her  !  Let  me  loose  !  I  '11 
go  up  now,  and  try  it ! " 

He  raged  upstairs  as  if  fighting  back  muti 
neers,  and  was  gone  for  half  an  hour.  He 
returned  to  report,  with  gusts  of  laughter. 

"  I  believe  you  're  more  'n  half  right,  miss, 
after  all.  I  guess  I  give  her  the  right  medicine 
this  time.  It  made  me  feel  some  like  a  scoun 
drel,  for  I  ain't  never  give  a  woman  a  hard  word 
in  my  life  before,  but  she  stood  for  it.  Women 
certainly  is  queer  craft !  She  begun  on  her  El- 
phingstone  game  again,  and  I  told  her  that  if  I 
ever  met  him,  I  'd  pound  him  into  strawberry 
jam  and  chuck  him  out  of  the  window  and  her 
with  him.  Why  don't  he  show  up,  anyway? 
that 's  what  I  asked  her ;  why  don't  he  come 
for  her  like  a  man  ?  If  he  does,  I  '11  show  him 
how  and  why  and  when  and  where  and  whom 
soever  and  all  he  wants  to  know  about  it.  Ho, 
ho  !  Ha,  ha  !  "  and  the  captain  roared  again. 

After  he  had  left,  Miss  Hooper  herself  crept 
downstairs,  white  and  trembling,  to  fall  into  Miss 
Mott's  arms.  "  My  dear,"  she  wept,  "  I  don't 
know  what  I  'm  comin'  to,  with  two  such  violent 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

men  !  It  was  bad  enough  for  Mr.  Elphinstone 
threatenin'  me  with  his  wild  letters,  but  I  tell 
you  Cap'm  Bildad  is  somethin'  awful!  I  be 
lieve  I  'm  in  danger  of  my  life  !  Why,  he 's  a 
perfect  brute !  And  he  's  always  been  so  nice 
and  respectful !  I  s'pose  there  ain't  no  accountin' 
for  what  a  man  will  do  when  he  's  in  love.  Bil 
dad  's  got  an  ugly  streak  in  him  that  I  never 
suspected  at  all.  You  should  have  seen  the  way 
he  stormed  round !  and,  my  dear,  he  used  words 
no  gentleman  should  permit  a  lady  to  hear  — 
least  of  all  the  woman  he  loves.  He  smashed 
two  chairs,  and  shook  his  fist  in  my  face,  and 
actually  demanded  to  see  my  last  letter  from 
Mortimer !  " 

"  Did  you  show  it  to  him  ?  "  asked  the  mani 
cure. 

"Why  —  yes  —  to  tell  the  truth,  I  did  it 
before  I  thought,  I  was  that  scared.  But  then 
you  know,  dear,  the  cap'm  is  really  an  old  friend, 
and  he  is  so  fond  of  me  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
allow  him  a  little  leeway,  considerin'  how  pas 
sionate  he  is.  He  means  all  right,  I  expect,  only 
he 's  naturally  headstrong.  It 's  a  good  fault,  I 
must  say." 

She  turned  to  go,  then  hesitated  a  moment. 

[137] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  Say,  Miss  Mott,  did  you  ever  have  a  man 
strike  you  in  anger  ?  Any  nice  man,  I  mean  — 
I  ain't  speakin'  of  common  brutality." 

"  No,  I  certainly  never  did  —  did  you  ?  " 

«  No  —  I  ain't !  "  Then  Henrietta  added 
dreamily,  "  But  I  should  think  it  would  be  ter 
rible  excitin'." 

The  next  day  the  captain  called,  to  draw  Miss 
Mott  towards  him  with  a  tragic  whisper. 

"  Say,  Miss  Mott,"  he  commenced,  "  when  I 
left  this  place  yesterday,  I  had  eight  dollars  in 
my  coat  pocket.  Did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  n't.    Why  ?    Did  you  lose  it  ?  " 

"  I  went  out  and  see  a  fire  down  towards 
Third  Avenue,  and  I  stopped  to  look.  There 
was  considerable  of  a  crowd,  and  it  was  pretty 
thick  where  I  was  wedged  into  it." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  had  your 
pocket  picked  ? " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  don't.  What  I  mean  to  say 
is,  I  had  my  pocket  stuffed,  by  jimminy  !  What 
d'  you  think  of  that  ?  When  I  got  home,  I  found 
a  thousand  and  ten  dollars  in  my  pocket !  " 

"It  does  n't  often  happen,"  said  the  mani 
cure,  smiling. 

"  No,  it  don't.    But  say,"  the  captain  con- 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

tinued,  "  you  know  that  young  fellow  Rayne,  I 
see  here  so  often,  who  comes  to  have  his  finger 
nails  overhauled  ?  Well,  he  went  down  the 
street  with  me,  and  he  was  in  the  crowd  beside 
of  me  all  the  time.  I  wish  you  'd  ask  him  if  he 
was  worked  same  as  me  ! " 

"  I  think  you  deserved  it  most,  captain," 
said  Miss  Mott.  "  It  will  help  you  to  get  mar 
ried,  won't  it  ? " 

"That 's  just  what  I'm  up  to  to-day!  By 
jimminy,  I  'm  going  to  go  for  Henny  this  very 
day,  and  I  won't  come  down  without  her  !  I  'm 
a  rich  man." 

"  If  you  want  Henrietta,  there  's  only  one 
thing  to  do,"  said  Miss  Mott. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  got  to  strike  her  ? 
My  God,  it  's  awful !  Why,  I  could  n't  no 
more  touch  her  than  I  could  take  a  mallet  to 
a  sick  baby.  I  'd  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  a 
thousand  years.  Would  she  ever  forgive  me  ?  " 
he  asked  anxiously. 

"  I  'm  afraid  she  would,  if  you  do  it  right," 
said  Miss  Mott.  "  If  she  refuses  you,  you  '11 
really  have  to  use  force." 

The  captain  gloomed.  "  It  ain't  my  way  of 
making  love,"  he  said  sadly.  "I  'm  more  for 

[  J39] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

kissing  and  caressing;  but  there  's  no  account 
ing  for  tastes,  and  I  '11  try  to  do  my  duty  by 
Henny.  I  wish  it  was  that  Elphingstone  I  was 
a-goin'  to  thrash,  though.  Lord,  think  of  me 
hitting  Hen  Hooper,  that  I  'm  in  love  with ! 
But  I  '11  do  it !  Perhaps  I  can  manage  without 
really  hurting  her.  Anyway,  I  'm  not  a-coming 
back  alone." 

He  was  gone  a  long  time.  It  was  twilight, 
and  Miss  Mott  was  gazing  out  upon  the  snowy 
street,  the  lights,  the  traffic,  and  the  tide  of 
pedestrians  setting  toward  the  great  East  Side, 
when  the  captain  and  Henrietta  entered  the 
parlors,  the  lady  a  willing,  smiling  prisoner  in 
his  strong  right  arm. 

"  I  s'pose  you  '11  be  surprised  to  see  me  act- 
in*  so  silly  at  my  time  of  life,  Miss  Mott,"  said 
Henrietta,  "  especially  after  the  way  I  Ve  talked, 
but  the  cap'm  has  persuaded  me  to  become  Mrs. 
Cushman.  I  had  no  idea  in  the  world  of  ever 
gettin'  married,  but  he  was  so  sweet  and  lovely 
that  I  just  had  to  give  in." 

"  I  'm  so  glad  for  you  both,"  said  the  little 
manicure.    "  Really,  though,  I  'm  almost  jeal 
ous.    I  am  half  in  love  with  the  captain  my 
self.    He  's  such  a  dear,  is  n't  he,  Henrietta  ?  " 
[140] 


The  Murder  of  M.  Elphinstone 

"  Is  n't  he  ?  He  's  so  sweet  —  he  's  a  perfect 
lamb ! " 

"  Never  mind  that ! "  said  the  captain  sternly, 
avoiding  Miss  Mott's  eye. 

"  And  we  '11  be  so  glad  to  have  you  here 
with  us,  for  we  're  going  to  live  upstairs  and 
take  the  whole  top  floor." 

"  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  'm  going  to  give  up  my 
business.  I  'm  leaving  to-morrow,"  said  Miss 
Mott. 

"  Well,  now,  that 's  too  bad  !  I  was  afraid  it 
did  n't  pay  very  well,  and  that  you  had  a  dull 
time  of  it,"  Miss  Hooper  said.  "  My  dear,  I 
should  think  it  would  be  stupid  for  you,  here 
on  the  ground  floor.  Now  if  you  only  had  a 
room  where  you  had  a  view,  you  'd  see  lots  of 
more  things  to  interest  you.  Here,  it 's  so  quiet 
nothin'  happens.  Up  where  I  am,  I  see  every 
thing,  and  I  can  take  my  mind  off  my  work. 
You  're  quite  out  of  the  world.  Who  knows 
but  the  captain  would  have  been  sendin'  you 
presents,  instead  of  me,  if  you  'd  been  upstairs !  " 

The  captain  began  to  cough,  and  his  eye 
roamed  furtively  about  the  room. 

"  Henny  !"  he  said  finally  in  a  broken  voice, 
"  I  played  you  a  dirty  trick  about  them  pre- 

[HI] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

sents  —  I  never  gave  one  of  'em  except  the 
comb  and  brush  and  the  lamp  and  the  book ! 
I  have  n't  the  least  idea  who  sent  'em,  but  I 
s'pose  it  was  that  darned  fool  Elphingstone." 

At  his  first  words  Henrietta  Hooper's  eye 
blazed  in  rage,  then  at  the  mention  of  her 
mysterious  lover,  she  melted.  She  threw  her 
arms  about  the  captain's  neck  and  wept. 

"  Oh,  Bildad  !  "  she  wailed,  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  '11  ever  think  of  me,  but  there  ain't 
any  Mortimer  Elphinstone,  and  there  never 
was,  nor  ever  will  be,  so  far  as  I  know.  I  was 
so  lonesome  before  I  knew  you,  that  I  just 
wrote  them  letters  to  myself  for  the  fun  of  it, 
so  as  to  pretend  that  somebody  cared  for  me  !  " 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  the  captain  exclaimed. 
"  Well,  I  'm  glad  he  's  dead ;  that  saves  me 
one  fight  anyway."  Then  his  face  knotted  in 
a  puzzled  expression,  and  he  turned  to  the 
pretty  manicure.  "  But  I  'd  like  to  know  who 
the  devil  did  send  them  things  —  would  n't 
you,  Miss  Mott  ?  " 

Miss  Mott  said  that  she  would,  indeed. 


V 
A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

I  HAD  been  much  interested  in  Stone  Dafs 
work  long  before  I  first  called  Miss  Million's 
attention  to  bis  illustrations.  Artists  with 
any  true  decorative  spirit  and  unconventional  tech 
nique  are  rare  enough  nowadays,  when  magazines 
seek  to  set  for  a  standard  the  photographic  realities. 

I  think,  however,  it  was  in  the  hope  for  some 
thing  a  bit  more  piquant  than  her  other  adven 
tures,  that  she  took  up  posing.  Her  knowledge 
of  art  and  artists  was  slight,  and  was  associated 
with  the  obvious  Bohemias  of  so-called  Latin 
Quarter  life.  If,  however,  Miss  Million  went  out 
most  commonly  for  Romance,  she  often  came  home 
with  something  warmer  and  more  human.  Her 
particular  kind  of  "sentimental  charity"  seldom 
missed  fire. 

She  set  me  some  difficult  tasks,  this  time,  and 
these  had  to  be  done  with  scant  allowance  of  time. 
Luckily,  I  had  organized  my  work  in  view  of  such 
sudden  calls,  and  as  money  was  no  object  to  my 

['43] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

employer,  I  bad  many  wires  rigged,  which  I  could 
pull  at  a  moment's  notice.  'Two  hours  were,  then, 
sufficient  time  in  which  to  find  and  deliver  a  spinet , 
and  to  equip  Mr.  Day's  studio  for  the  denouement 
of  this  story.  How,  by  one  trick  or  another,  by 
ruse  and  wile,  she  got  his  complete  plan  for  the  estab 
lishment,  was  in  itself  a  story  which  entertained 
me  many  a  night,  in  her  apartments  in  East  Fifty- 
Eighth  Street. 

And  the  name  she  took,  for  this  adventure, 
shortened  to  "Peedeeweed,"  was  my  pet  name  for 
her,  when,  at  last,  I  had  the  right  to  use  one. 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

HAVE  you  ever  posed  before  ? "  Stone 
Day  asked. 
No,  she  never  had,  but  she  thought 
she  could,  all  right. 

"  I  Ve  got  some  magazine  illustrations  to 
do,  and  I  don't  know  but  I  can  use  you,"  the 
artist  said,  looking  at  her  critically.  "  You  might 
give  me  your  name  and  address,  if  you  will." 

Pauline  de  Weed,  500  Twenty-Eighth  Street. 
But  it  was  "  P.  de  Weed  "  when  Stone  Day  had 
written  it  in  charcoal  on  the  gray  ingrain  wall 
paper  beside  the  door-jamb,  and  it  was  "  P.  de 
Weed  "  he  called  her  after  that. 

"  Can  you  begin  to-day  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  'm 
all  ready  to  go  ahead,  and  I  might  as  well  see 
if  you  're  able  to  hold  a  pose." 

Yes,  she  was  ready,  if  her  costume  would  do. 
If  not,  she  had  plenty  of  others;  in  fact,  that 
was  all  she  did  have.  They  had  been  given 
her  by  some  rich  relatives,  who  of  course  did  n't 
know  she  posed. 

['45] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

It  was,  indeed,  the  clothes  and  the  air  with 
which  she  wore  them  that  had  prepossessed 
Stone  at  first,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  her 
so.  But  also  he  admitted  that  there  was  "  a  lot 
of  stuff"  in  her  face.  "There's  some  drawing 
in  your  nose  and  mouth,"  he  muttered,  as  he  in 
spected  the  girl  frankly  through  narrowed  eyes. 

Miss  de  Weed  had  a  face  which,  when  seri 
ously  composed,  showed  a  quaint,  old-fashioned 
sort  of  earnestness ;  but  when  she  smiled,  it 
was  with  a  gleeful  abandon  that  half  closed  her 
hazel  eyes  delightfully,  and  pricked  two  deep 
dimples  in  her  cheeks.  She  was  petite,  but  her 
gracile  figure,  the  distinction  with  which  her 
head  was  set  on  her  neck,  and  the  massing  of 
her  hair  showed  such  subtle,  effective  propor 
tions  that  there  was  no  emphasis  in  her  size. 
The  long,  incurving  lines  of  her  three-quarter 
coat  of  white  broadcloth  showed  the  trimness  of 
her  waist,  as  the  short  skirt  of  the  same  material 
did  the  neatness  of  her  ankles  and  well-shod  feet. 
A  square  envelope  hat  with  two  scarlet  plumes 
completed  the  picture,  more  effective  for  its  set 
ting  in  that  wide,  dingy,  disordered  studio. 

She  watched  Stone  with  great  interest,  as  he 
took  up  a  canvas,  adjusted  it  to  his  easel,  and 
[146] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

moved  a  small  table  to  a  place  beneath  the  sky 
light. 

"Stand  here,  P.  de  Weed,"  he  then  said. 
"  This  thing  is  to  represent  a  modern  society 
girl  standing  against  an  old  spinet.  But  I  want 
to  make  it  a  good  deal  more  than  a  pretty  girl 
picture,  and  if  it  goes  all  right,  I  '11  paint  it  in 
color.  That 's  the  only  way  to  get  the  values 
right.  Now,  look  as  if  you  had  just  been  spoken 
to,  and  lay  your  hand  along  what  would  be  the 
keys  of  the  instrument.  That's  good.  Wait  till 
I  take  a  look  at  the  manuscript." 

He  delved  into  a  heap  of  papers  on  the  floor 
—  art  publications,  photographs,  sketches,  news 
papers,  letters,  a  confused  litter,  and  after  a  few 
expletives  drew  out  some  proof-sheets. 

"  This  author  will  want  me  to  illustrate  the 
butler  choking  his  heroine,  I  suppose.  They 
always  expect  a  dime-novel  cover;  they  expect 
me  to  tell  their  story  for  them.  I  'm  going  to 
make  a  dignified  thing  of  this.  Here  we  are  — 
cMiss  Garnish's  eyes  followed  him' — do  you 
think  you  can  manage  that  ?  " 

"  It  ought  to  be  easy,"  she  smiled,  and  took 
the  pose,  needing  but  few  suggestions  before 
the  composition  was  arranged.  Her  position 

['47] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

was  such  that  she  could  take  only  occasional 
glimpses  at  him,  when  she  thought  he  was  not 
looking. 

Stone  Day  was  a  large,  athletic-looking  fel 
low  of  some  eight  and  twenty  years.  He  had 
a  grotesquely  rugged  and  boldly  modeled  face, 
which,  in  spite  of  the  many  blemishes  of  its 
complexion,  was  full  of  energy  and  simplicity 
and  generosity.  He  showed  traces  of  overwork 
and  strain  about  his  eyes,  and  the  strong  chin, 
not  too  heavy,  and  his  large  but  well-formed 
nose  gave  an  impression  of  reserved  power. 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  "  he  asked  his  model,  after 
working  silently  for  an  hour. 

"  A  little,"  she  confessed.  "  The  fact  is,  Mr. 
Day,  I  have  n't  had  any  lunch,  and  I  feel  a 
bit  faint.  I  forgot  to  bring  my  purse  with  me. 
You  have  n't  a  cracker  or  anything  here,  have 
you?" 

A  quick,  pained  expression  came,  for  a  mo 
ment,  over  Stone's  face ;  then  he  rose  hastily. 
"  Oh,  I  'm  so  sorry  !  You  wait  a  moment,  and 
I  '11  run  out  and  get  you  something  to  eat. 
There 's  a  restaurant  just  around  the  corner, 
and  it  won't  take  a  minute." 

He  put  on  his  hat,  then  hesitated,  casting 
[148] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

his  eyes  about  the  room.  They  finally  rested 
upon  a  violin  beside  the  mantel.  "  Jove  !  "  he 
exclaimed, "  I  forgot  all  about  returning  Smith's 
fiddle.  I  '11  take  it  in  to  him,  on  my  way."  A 
minute  later  he  had  slammed  the  door  behind 
him,  and  was  running  downstairs. 

After  he  had  left,  Miss  de  Weed  walked 
slowly  about  the  studio.  It  was  large,  but 
scantily  furnished,  with  little  attempt  at  decora 
tion.  A  few  Japanese  and  German  prints  were 
pinned  to  the  wall,  and  a  pen-and-ink  sketch 
"  a  mon  ami,  Day,"  stood  on  the  mantel.  A  half- 
filled  bookcase  stood  between  the  windows,  and 
a  collection  of  drawings  and  canvases  upon  the 
floor,  their  faces  all  turned  towards  the  wall. 
The  only  interesting  spot  of  color  was  a  large 
blue  Cloisonne  jar,  alone  upon  a  shelf.  Miss 
de  Weed  took  it  down  to  examine  it,  and  her 
glance  fell  carelessly  inside.  Then  she  put  it 
quickly  back,  with  a  smile.  The  jar  held  a  col 
lection  of  pawn-tickets  —  a  dozen  or  more. 

Stone  soon  returned,  and,  opening  a  paste 
board  box,  spread  his  refreshments  upon  the 
model-stand  —  sandwiches,  a  bottle  of  milk, 
cheese,  and  a  little  Charlotte  Russe.  As  she 
sat  down  to  this  repast,  Stone  walked  carelessly 

[  H9] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

over  towards  the  shelf.  Miss  de  Weed,  watch 
ing  him  as  carelessly,  saw  him  take  a  pawn- 
ticket  from  his  pocket  and  drop  it  into  the 
jar. 

When  her  pose  was  resumed,  Stone  went  on 
with  his  work,  scarcely  speaking  to  her  except 
occasionally  to  adjust  her  position,  earnestly  in 
tent  upon  placing  the  composition  well  upon  the 
canvas  before  the  light  faded.  By  five  o'clock 
it  was  too  dark  to  work  longer,  and  he  arose 
and  yawned. 

"  I  guess  that  '11  do  for  to-day,  P.  de  Weed  ; 
you  're  all  right !  I  think  I  can  do  some  bully 
good  things  with  you.  Come  to-morrow  at  ten, 
will  you  ? " 

•  ••••••• 

Next  morning  Stone  came  running  up  the 
three  flights  of  narrow  stairs,  a  bottle  of  milk 
in  one  hand  and  his  mail  in  the  other,  to  find 
Miss  de  Weed  waiting  for  him  outside  his 
door. 

"  I  keep  the  key  on  this  nail  here,"  he  ex 
plained,  "  and  you  can  always  go  right  in,  if 
you  want  to.  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  prompt. 
I  'm  crazy  to  get  to  work  —  it's  months  since 
I  Ve  had  a  model  with  any  brains."  He  opened 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

the  door  and  walked  into  the  studio.  "  For  the 
love  of  Heaven,  where  did  that  come  from  ! " 
he  exclaimed. 

Miss  de  Weed,  following  his  look,  saw  a  bat 
tered  but  picturesque  old  spinet  standing  in  a 
corner. 

"  Why,  did  n't  you  get  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  plenty  of  things  to  spend  my  money 
on,  besides  buying  spinets,"  he  answered.  "  I  'd 
as  soon  think  of  buying  a  cloth-of-gold  night 
shirt  or  an  ivory  bootblack-stand.  I  need  ham 
and  eggs  too  much.  There 's  some  mistake. 
I  '11  have  to  ask  the  janitor  about  it." 

"  I  thought  you  said  —  you  needed  —  a  spinet 
for  your  picture  ? "  Miss  de  Weed  said,  frown 
ing  a  little. 

"  Lord,  I  can  put  that  in,  in  ten  minutes, 
from  the  Encyclopaedia.  But  we  might  as  well 
use  this,  now  we  have  it,  before  the  owner  comes 
for  it.  It  was  a  funny  coincidence,  though,  was  n't 
it  ?  Probably  bought  at  an  auction  and  sent  to 
the  wrong  address.  Let 's  see  what  the  old  thing 
sounds  like.  It  must  be  a  regular  tin  pan  by 
this  time." 

He  lifted  the  lid  and  drew  up  a  stool.  "  I 
only  know  one  tune  to  play.  My  mother  taught 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

it  to  me  when  I  was  twelve  years  old.  I  never 
got  farther  than  that.  Wonder  if  I  can  re 
member  how  it  goes.  See  if  you  can  recog 
nize  it." 

He  spread  his  fingers,  bit  his  lip,  and  began. 
At  the  sixth  note  of  the  air,  instead  of  the  thin, 
metallic  vibrations  called  from  the  other  keys, 
there  came  a  harsh,  rattling  sound. 

"  Oh,  that 's  '  Robin  Adair,'  is  n't  it  ?  "  cried 
Miss  de  Weed. 

"  What  there  was  of  it,"  said  Stone.  "  There 's 
something  the  matter  with  B-flat.  Kids  been 
putting  papers  in  the  wires,  probably.  I  used 
to,  when  I  was  a  youngster.  Let 's  have  a  look ! " 

He  threw  up  the  top,  examined  the  strings 
closely,  and  then  carefully  removed  something 
that  had  been  neatly  woven  in  and  out  between 
the  wires.  He  whistled  in  astonishment,  then 
held  it  up. 

"  What  d'  you  think  of  that,  P.  de  Weed  ? 
A  hundred-dollar  bill,  by  Jupiter !  This  is  get 
ting  interesting." 

As  Miss  de  Weed  watched  him,  her  smile 
had  grown  more  radiant.   Now  she  clasped  her 
hands  in  delight.    "  How  lovely  ! "  she  cried. 
"  It 's  real  treasure-trove  !    I  'm  so  glad  !  " 
['52] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

Stone  looked  at  the  bill  seriously.  "  No  such 
luck,"  he  said.  "  They  '11  come  for  this,  all  right. 
I  'd  better  put  it  out  of  sight  before  I  begin 
to  imagine  what  I  could  do  with  it."  He  walked 
over  to  the  Cloisonne  jar  and  dropped  the 
money  inside. 

The  negro  janitress,  upon  being  interviewed, 
told  him  that  the  spinet  had  been  brought  at 
nine  o'clock  that  morning  by  two  teamsters, 
who  had  given  Stone  Day's  name.  The  day 
passed,  bringing  no  further  information. 

A  week  went  by,  and  there  was  still  no  news, 
nor  any  claimant  for  the  spinet;  yet  in  spite 
of  Miss  de  Weed's  opinion  that  the  bill  was 
rightfully  his,  Stone  would  not  use  the  money. 

Meanwhile,  the  first  illustration  was  finished, 
painted  upon  a  small  canvas  in  his  close,  faithful 
manner,  and  another  pose  was  begun.  Stone 
had  so  long  struggled  with  inferior  and  unin 
telligent  models,  that  Miss  de  Weed's  cheerful, 
clever,  and  sympathetic  assistance  inspired  him 
to  better  work  than  he  had  ever  done  before. 
Her  patience  was  never  wearied,  her  promptness 
was  mathematical  in  its  exactness,  and  her  good 
nature  endless.  He  began,  therefore,  gradually 
to  permit  himself  a  slight  familiarity,  though 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

he  feared  to  spoil  his  good  luck  ;  but  as,  unlike 
most  of  his  professional  models,  she  took  no 
advantage  of  this  freedom,  worked  as  conscien 
tiously  and  talked  as  little  as  ever,  he  grew  to 
treat  her  more  and  more  as  a  friend  in  whom 
he  might  trust. 

She,  on  her  part,  watched  him  carefully,  no 
ticing  every  sign  of  privation  and  courageous 
struggle  that  his  face  and  clothes  and  habits  all 
pointed  at.  His  pretenses  at  having  eaten  break 
fast  were  as  obvious  as  the  holes  in  his  shoes. 
Bill  collectors  had  so  worried  him  that  he  had 
bored  a  peephole  in  the  panel  of  his  door,  so 
that  when  any  one  knocked,  he  might  protect 
his  privacy  by  silence.  Still,  Stone  Day's  ser 
vices  were  in  good  demand,  and  he  was  always 
busy,  working  on  his  black-and-whites  often 
till  late  at  night.  The  cause  of  his  poverty  was 
soon  explained  to  his  new  model. 

They  were  working  together,  one  stormy 
November  afternoon,  when  there  came  a  little 
tapping  at  the  door.  Stone  laid  down  his  pal 
ette  and  waited  without  speaking,  putting  his 
finger  warningly  to  his  lips.  The  knock  was 
repeated.  He  arose  with  a  scowl,  and,  tiptoe 
ing  to  the  peephole,  looked  into  the  hall. 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

The  scowl  changed  to  a  pleased  smile  as  he 
threw  open  the  door  and  admitted  a  young 
girl,  scarcely  eighteen. 

She  was  a  timid,  wistful  little  thing,  brown 
skinned,  with  a  clever,  pointed  chin,  whimsi 
cally  shaped  brows  over  deep  gray  eyes,  and 
a  triangular  face,  delicate  in  all  its  details  of 
temple,  nostrils,  and  ears.  She  was  dressed 
cheaply,  but  with  a  certain  odd,  tasteful  origi 
nality. 

Stone  introduced  her  to  Miss  de  Weed  as 
Miss  Elsa  Brand,  giving  each  an  equal  consid 
eration  by  the  courtesy  of  his  manner.  Elsa 
immediately  took  a  chair  by  his  side  and  begged 
him  to  go  on  with  his  work.  He  consented, 
and  continued  with  the  pose,  speaking  to  her 
occasionally,  until  the  light  had  faded.  Their 
relationship  might  have  been,  so  far  as  most 
observers  would  notice,  that  of  brother  and 
sister.  When  Miss  de  Weed  watched  him, 
however,  she  suspected  something  closer  and 
dearer ;  when  she  watched  Elsa,  she  was  sure 
enough  to  make  up  her  mind. 

"  I  wish  we  could  all  have  dinner  here ! " 
Stone  exclaimed,  when  his  work  was  put  away. 
"  Would  n't  it  be  jolly  !  It  's  so  horribly 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

sloppy  to  go  out.  Perhaps  we  can  have  some 
tea,  though,  if  there  's  any  left." 

"  That  '11  be  nice,"  said  Elsa,  "  but  first  I 
want  to  see  your  spinet.  I  've  heard  so  much 
about  it !  Is  n't  it  a  funny  old  thing !  I  do 
wish  I  could  play  on  it ! " 

"  If  you  can  stand  it,  I  '11  give  you  my  whole 
repertoire,  consisting  of  the  one  magic  tune  of 
c  Robin  Adair,' "  said  Stone  gayly.  "  The  last 
time  I  played  it,  I  won  a  hundred  dollars.  Let 's 
see  if  the  spell  still  works."  He  sat  down,  and 
produced  such  an  astonishing  series  of  thin, 
metallic  discords  that  Elsa  soon  held  her  hands 
to  her  ears. 

"  Nothing  doing,  evidently,"  he  said,  peering 
into  the  works  and  striking  B-flat  with  mock 
insistence. 

Miss  de  Weed  had  been  buttoning  up  her 
mackintosh  slowly,  watching  first  one  and  then 
the  other.  At  this  last  remark  she  smiled,  as  if 
inspired  by  some  happy  thought.  Then  she 
turned  to  go.  Both  Stone  and  Elsa  begged  her 
to  stay  and  have  tea  with  them,  but  pleading 
errands  to  do,  she  escaped  their  protests  and 
ran  downstairs. 

"  Do  you  know  what   happened  after  you 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

left?"  Stone  said  to  her  next  morning.  "This 
place  is  bewitched,  that 's  all !  A  half  hour  after 
you  had  gone,  while  Elsa  and  I  were  drinking 
tea  out  of  tumblers  and  eating  soda  biscuit, 
two  waiters  burst  into  the  room  with  a  hamper 
full  of  champagne,  ice  cream,  and  hot  ducks, 
and  a  tray  full  of  dishes.  They  would  n't  tell 
me  who  had  ordered  it.  Would  n't  that  come 
and  get  you  ?  I  pass  it  all  up  !  I  can  account 
for  the  spinet  as  a  natural  mistake,  and  the 
hundred-dollar  bill  as  a  miser's  secret  hoard ; 
but  a  hot,  expensive  dinner  appearing  uncalled 
out  of  a  snowstorm  is  simply  too  good  to  be 
true ! " 

"  Did  n't  you  play  '  Robin  Adair '  on  your 
magic  spinet  ? "  Miss  de  Weed  asked,  laugh 
ing. 

"  That 's  a  fact !  I  forgot  all  about  it !  There 
must  be  something  in  the  old  thing,  after  all ! 
But  seriously,  I  don't  see  where  the  devil  that 
grub  came  from  —  unless  it  was  you  did  it ! 
You  're  not  in  love  with  me,  P.  de  Weed,  are 
you?" 

"  Not  to  that  extent,"  she  laughed. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  exactly  afford 
to  buy  wine  and  ducks,  posing  for  me  at  fifty 

[^57] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

cents  an  hour  —  unless  you  are  a  princess  in 
disguise,"  he  said  reflectively. 

"No,  I'm  not  exactly  that,"  said  Miss  de 
Weed. 

"What  did  you  think  of  Elsa?  "  was  his 
next  remark. 

"  I  thought  she  was  a  dear !  Do  tell  me  about 
her." 

"  I  will,"  Stone  replied.  "  I  want  you  to 
know  her.  I  don't  know  but  that  you  can  help 
her  —  and  me." 

As  he  scraped  his  palette,  mixed  his  paints, 
and  blocked  in  his  picture,  his  talk  ran  on. 
Sometimes,  when  his  painting  demanded  close 
attention,  he  would  work  fifteen  minutes  with 
out  a  word.  Then  he  would  lay  down  his  pal 
ette,  light  his  pipe,  and  continue  his  narrative. 
But  for  the  most  part,  the  story  came  out,  two 
or  three  sentences  at  a  time,  interrupted  by 
pauses,  during  which  he  looked  at  Miss  de 
Weed  as  if  she  were  nothing  more  intelligent 
than  a  lay  figure. 

Elsa  had  been  a  "  State  child  ;  "  supported, 
that  is,  at  public  expense  in  an  orphan  asylum 
in  Massachusetts.  Her  parents,  both  English, 
apparently  well-to-do  and  educated,  had  died 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

in  a  Boston  hotel  when  Elsa  was  five  years  old, 
and  no  trace  of  their  connections  or  residence 
had  ever  been  found.  At  the  asylum  Elsa's 
life  had  been  more  than  usually  unfortunate, 
not  on  account  of  any  unkindness  on  the  part 
of  the  attendants,  or  the  hardships  of  institu 
tional  trials,  but  because,  on  account  of  her  elfin 
looks,  she  had  been  passed  by,  time  after  time, 
for  more  obviously  pretty  children,  by  visitors 
who  came  seeking  children  for  adoption.  It 
had  been  the  tragedy  of  her  childhood  to  long 
for  some  one  to  take  her  away,  to  be  summoned 
and  hurriedly  dressed  in  the  most  presentable 
clothes  the  matron  could  find,  to  be  shown  to 
the  visitor,  watch  in  vain  for  some  tender  glance 
of  interest  or  love  —  and  to  go  back  again  into 
her  gingham  frock,  to  weep  her  heart  out  in 
despairing  disappointment.  As  she  approached 
the  age  of  fourteen  her  sufferings  became  more 
poignant,  for  if  she  were  not  adopted  by  the 
time  she  reached  that  age,  she  would  have  to 
be  bound  out  as  a  servant  until  she  was  twenty- 
one,  to  any  one  who  made  application  for  her 
services. 

"  She  was  within  a  few  months  of  fourteen 
when  I  first  saw  her,"  said  Stone,  laying  down 

[159] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

both  palette  and  pipe  now,  to  finish  his  story.  "  I 
happened  to  go  through  the  institution,  hoping 
to  get  a  good  child  model,  and  Elsa  was  sitting 
by  a  window,  alone,  watching  the  clouds,  with 
an  expression  I  have  never  forgotten ;  though, 
thank  God,  I  've  never  seen  her  have  it  since. 
I  don't  know  that  you  can  see  all  an  artist  sees 
in  her  face,  P.  de  Weed,  but  I  saw  that  she 
was  beautiful.  I  saw  more  than  that.  I  saw 
sweetness  and  strength  and  humor;  I  saw  a  mind 
and  a  spirit.  It  came  over  me  in  a  flash  of  in 
tuition  that  I  would  never  see  just  what  I  saw 
there  in  any  woman's  face  again,  though  I  should 
look  for  years,  and  I  was  wise  enough  or  foolish 
enough  to  fall  in  love,  then  and  there,  with  a 
little  girl  thirteen  years  old !  Extraordinary, 
isn't  it !  But  it's  been  done  before.  There  was 
Swift  and  Stella,  and  there  have  been  others  — 
and  there  will  be  again.  I  got  some  friends  of 
mine  to  adopt  her,  but  I  've  paid  all  her  ex 
penses  ever  since  that  day.  I  've  been  waiting 
all  this  time  for  her  to  grow  up,  waiting  for  her 
to  be  educated,  waiting  for  her  to  know  a  little 
of  the  world  and  other  men,  waiting  for  her  to 
love  me  as  I  want  to  be  loved  —  as  I  love  her. 
She  's  eighteen  now,  but  I  don't  know  whether 
[160] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

she  cares  for  me  or  not.  I  'm  ten  years  her 
senior,  but  that  ought  n't  to  matter.  I  wish  I 
could  believe  that  she  'd  ever  care  for  an  ugly, 
poor,  stupid  beggar  like  me !  What  d'  you 
think,  P.  de  Weed  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  does,"  said  Miss  de  Weed. 
"  I  've  watched  her,  and  I  Ve  noticed  a  good 
deal  —  but  of  course  not  even  a  woman  can  be 
sure,  always.  But  I  think  she  's  very  fond  of 
you." 

"  If  I  could  only  find  out  some  way,"  he 
said,  walking  up  and  down  the  studio,  gazing 
at  the  ceiling ;  "  but  after  all,  I  don't  know  but 
it  would  be  worse  if  I  did.  I  don't  see  how  I 
could  marry  her.  I  can't  save  any  money." 

Miss  de  Weed  found  a  smile  at  last.  "I 
think  you  '11  have  to  play  c  Robin  Adair'  again," 
she  said  jokingly. 

He  gave  a  grunt,  half  laughter  and  half 
scorn,  and  walked,  still  abstracted,  to  the  old 
spinet,  where  he  pulled  up  a  chair  and  sat 
down.  The  air,  distorted  and  discordant,  came 
tortured  from  the  tuneless  keys. 

"  Abracadabra !  Let  the  incantation  work  !  " 
he  muttered,  as  he  struck  B-flat.  Then  he  arose 
and  walked  back  to  his  easel. 

[161] 


A  Little  .Sister  of  Destiny 

At  twelve  o'clock  Miss  de  Weed  announced 
her  intention  of  going  out  for  her  luncheon. 
Stone  seemed  a  bit  surprised.  Heretofore,  either 
she  had  brought  food  and  they  had  eaten  to 
gether  in  the  studio,  or  they  had  gone  across  the 
street  to  sit  up  at  a  high  counter,  side  by  side. 
He  was  a  hard  worker,  and  made  the  most  of 
his  time  downtown. 

She  returned  at  one  o'clock,  in  high  spirits, 
with  a  little  bunch  of  violets,  bought  for  him, 
she  said,  on  the  street  corner.  Apologizing  for 
her  delay,  she  set  her  feet  in  the  chalk  marks 
on  the  floor  and  took  her  pose. 

At  three  o'clock  there  was  a  loud,  officious 
knock  on  the  door.  Stone  scowled  and  kept 
on  working.  The  knock  was  repeated,  more 
loudly.  Stone  did  not  appear  to  notice  it.  Miss 
de  Weed,  in  this  pose,  held  a  wineglass,  as  if 
drinking  a  toast.  At  this  moment,  it  fell  from 
her  fingers  and  crashed  upon  the  floor. 

Stone  arose,  his  scowl  deeper  than  ever.  "  I 
suppose  I  '11  have  to  open  the  door,  now  we  're 
discovered.  I  did  want  to  finish  this  darned 
thing  to-day,  though.  If  it 's  a  collector,  I  '11 
kill  him  !  " 

So  saying,  he  threw  open  the  door.  A  young 
[162] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

man,  with  a  short  black  mustache  and  eyeglasses, 
appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Stone  Day? "  he  asked.  Stone 
admitted  the  fact. 

"  Mr.  Day,"  the  stranger  went  on,  "  I  got 
your  address  from  one  of  the  magazines,  and 
I  'd  like  very  much  to  see  some  of  your  work, 
if  you  have  time  to  show  it  to  me.  There  are 
two  or  three  of  your  drawings  that  have  ap 
peared  lately  and  interested  me  a  lot;  I  'd  like 
to  get  hold  of  some  of  them,  if  you  're  willing 
to  sell  them." 

"  Come  in !  "  said  Stone,  and  his  tone  was 
cordial. 

For  half  an  hour  the  brisk  young  man  ques 
tioned,  examined  canvases  and  drawings,  criti 
cised,  gossiped,  and  at  rare  intervals  cast  a 
swift,  furtive  glance  at  Miss  de  Weed.  She  did 
not  join  the  conversation,  however,  but,  taking 
up  a  book,  pretended  to  read.  Once,  during 
the  discussion  of  a  picture  she  was  particularly 
fond  of,  she  nodded  surreptitiously.  Once  she 
shook  her  head. 

When  at  last  the  young  man  left,  Stone  came 
and  laid  a  cheque  silently  upon  the  table  before 
her.  It  was  drawn  for  four  hundred  dollars, 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

and  signed  "Winton  Rayne."  Miss  de  Weed 
smiled. 

"*  Robin  Adair'  made  good,  all  right,  did  n't 
he  ? " 

"  I  '11  never  give  that  spinet  up  now ! "  Stone 
exclaimed. 

There  were  gayer  times  in  the  studio  after 
that.  Stone,  urged  by  both  the  girls,  consented 
to  let  up  a  little  in  the  pace  he  had  set  for  him 
self.  Elsa  dropped  in  occasionally,  and  stopped 
for  longer  talks  with  Miss  de  Weed.  Sometimes 
the  model  would  come  early,  let  herself  in,  and 
read  till  Stone  came. 

One  day,  finding  her  there  in  the  morning, 
he  began  anxiously  :  — 

"  I  saw  Elsa  last  night,  P.  de  Weed  —  I  see 
her  almost  every  night.  I  ought  to  stay  away  and 
give  her  a  chance  to  see  other  men,  but  I  can't ! 
I  Ve  simply  got  to  find  out  how  she  feels  about 
me.  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  ask  her  until  I 
know.  I  don't  want  her  to  sacrifice  herself  just 
for  gratitude  to  me,  and  I  'm  afraid  she  'd  be  in 
clined  to  do  it.  I  don't  want  her  to  take  me  from 
pity,  either.  I  don't  want  her  unless  she  loves 
me,  truly  and  deeply.  I  want  to  be  sure,  and  I 
want  her  to  be  sure.  I  want  you  to  find  out  for 
[164] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

me.  It  seems  a  mean  trick  to  put  her  to  the 
test,  but  I  think  that  the  circumstances  justify 
it.  What  do  you  say,  P.  de  Weed  ? " 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked. 
"  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  been  thinking  it  over,"  he  said,  "  and 
as  near  as  I  can  see,  the  old-fashioned  test  of 
jealousy  is  the  only  way.  Suppose  we  managed 
to  give  her  the  idea  that  we  are  —  well,  a 
little  fond  of  each  other,  you  and  I,  d'  you  see? 
Now,  if  she  is  merely  grateful  to  me  for  what 
I  Ve  done,  she  '11  be  rather  glad  to  see  me  in 
terested  in  a  nice  girl  whom  she  likes ;  and  she 
does  like  you.  But  if  she  cares  for  me  the  way 
I  care  for  her,  she  '11  be  jealous,  won't  she  ? 
She  can't  help  it.  Any  woman  would  be,  if  she 
really  loved  a  man.  So,  if  we  can  make  her 
jealous,  I  'm  sure  of  her,  and  I  '11  marry  her 
with  a  free  conscience." 

"  I  see,"  said  Miss  de  Weed.  "  You  want 
me  to  do  a  little  acting  with  you.  I  don't  know 
that  I  particularly  agree  with  all  your  theories, 
though." 

"  It  does  seem  a  low-down  trick,  does  n't  it? 
I  can't  bear  to  think  of  hurting  her,  but  it  must 
be  done." 

[165] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  It 's  a  very  interesting  experiment  in  psy 
chology,  at  any  rate,"  said  Miss  de  Weed.  "  I 
think  I  'd  like  to  try  it." 

Stone  himself  could  never  have  planned  such 
a  programme  as  was  now  put  in  operation  for 
Elsa's  benefit.  Its  details  were  the  subtleties 
one  woman  instinctively  knows  will  be  most 
effective  upon  another.  Stone  followed  Miss 
de  Weed's  orders  and  both  watched  the  pathetic 
little  victim,  waiting  for  the  first  sign  of  appre 
hension.  By  this  time  Miss  de  Weed's  poses 
were  finished,  and  Stone  had  now  no  profes 
sional  use  for  her.  She  came  in  often,  however, 
and  her  visits  had  an  extra  significance  because 
they  were  gratuitous. 

Elsa  often  found  the  two  apparently  absorbed 
in  conversations  from  which  they  withdrew 
somewhat  reluctantly,  or  carried  on  in  such  a 
way  that  it  seemed  to  include  Elsa  only  at  pat 
ronizing  intervals.  Miss  de  Weed's  eyes  seldom 
really  left  Stone,  and  she  was  quick  to  anticipate 
his  wants,  waiting  upon  him  with  an  indulgent 
alacrity.  She  was  often  discovered  dusting  and 
rearranging  the  mantel  or  his  papers,  or  serving 
him  in  any  one  of  the  many  little  ways  which 
[166] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

Elsa  had  once  considered  to  be  her  own  privi 
lege.  Or,  they  would  be  playing  chess  together, 
interminable  games  which  she  begged  them  not 
to  stop  on  her  account,  and  which  they  often 
did  not  stop,  though  they  seemed  to  separate 
her  from  them  by  an  enormous  intellectual  dis 
tance. 

Most  effective  of  all  was  Miss  de  Weed's 
way  of  welcoming  Elsa  when  she  came,  or,  with 
Stone,  bidding  her  farewell  when  she  left,  mani 
festing  a  cordiality  which  seemed  to  assume  a 
part-proprietorship  in  the  studio.  Miss  de  Weed 
used  the  words  "  we  "  and  "  our  "  more  often 
when  she  referred  to  Stone  and  herself,  or  served 
tea  on  the  model-stand.  Elsa  was  usually  in 
cluded  in  their  plans,  obviously  as  an  after 
thought,  and,  as  she  soon  perceived,  only  when 
she  happened  to  be  present  when  those  plans 
were  made.  There  was  reference  to  many  little 
excursions  occurring  during  her  absence.  A 
rather  thick  letter  or  two,  addressed  to  "  Stone 
Day,  Esq.,"  in  Miss  de  Weed's  extravagant 
handwriting  was  often  in  evidence  upon  the 
table.  Stone  and  Miss  de  Weed  made  many 
remarks  to  each  other  which  were  quite  over 
Elsa's  head,  and  these  were  never  explained. 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

The  two  conspirators  went  so  far,  sometimes, 
as  to  exchange  a  few  words  in  French,  a  lan 
guage  which  Elsa  was  ashamed  of  never  having 
studied. 

If  the  girl  suffered,  in  noticing  these  evi 
dences  of  Stone's  growing  intimacy  with  Miss 
de  Weed,  she  made  no  sign  of  jealousy,  but 
treated  them  always  with  her  habitual  sweetness 
and  cheerfulness,  and  took  her  place  as  third 
in  the  trio  without  protest.  It  became  neces 
sary,  therefore,  for  Stone  and  Miss  de  Weed 
to  complicate  their  strategy  in  the  endeavor  to 
force  Elsa's  hand,  but  the  deceit  hurt  Stone 
almost  more  than  he  could  bear.  Elsa  sur 
rendered  her  privileges,  one  by  one,  almost 
proudly,  as  if  she  were  conferring  gifts,  and  at 
every  such  piece  of  magnanimity  Stone's  heart 
almost  stopped  beating. 

The  climax  came  one  day,  when,  after  knock 
ing  upon  the  studio  door,  Elsa  heard  a  surrep 
titious  confusion  before  she  was  admitted.  For 
some  time  the  conversation  was  constrained. 
Then  Elsa  looked  at  Stone  composedly,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  weeks  assumed  her  old 
place  and  manner. 

"  Stone,"  she  said  calmly,  "  I  left  my  rubbers 
[168] 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

at  home,  and  my  feet  are  wet.  Would  you  mind 
going  over  to  get  them  for  me  while  I  dry  my 
shoes  here? " 

He  arose,  slightly  surprised,  but  said,  "  Why, 
of  course  —  I'll  be  glad  to  go  for  you,"  and 
taking  his  hat  and  umbrella,  left  the  two  girls 
alone. 

Elsa  came  over  to  where  Miss  de  Weed  sat, 
and  put  her  arm  about  her  waist.  "  I  sent  him 
away  on  purpose,  so  that  I  could  talk  to  you, 
P.  de  Weed,"  she  confessed,  "  but  I  hated  to 
make  him  go.  You  '11  forgive  me  this  once, 
won't  you  ?  I  've  something  to  say  to  you, 
dear."  She  laid  her  head  on  Miss  de  Weed's 
shoulder  and  looked  across  at  the  fire  in  the  little 
grate,  not  noticing  the  other's  smile  and  quick 
indrawn  breath. 

"  I  've  worked  it  all  out,"  Elsa  began,  "  about 
Stone  and  you  and  me.  Things  have  changed 
so  during  the  last  few  weeks  that  at  first  I  did  n't 
know  what  to  think  or  do.  But  now  I  see  quite 
clearly.  At  first,  I  confess,  it  was  hard  for  me  to 
adjust  myself,  but  now  it's  all  so  simple  and  easy 
that  really  I  feel  very  peaceful  and  happy  about 
it.  Stone  is  in  love  with  you,  P.  de  Weed.  Of 
course  you  know  it,  but  I  'm  not  sure  that  he 

[169] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

does  yet,  being  a  man.  He 's  known  me  for  so 
long  that  it  may  be  hard  for  him  to  acknowledge 
even  to  himself  that  he  cares  more  for  you  than 
he  does  for  me.  He  may  even  think  —  that  I  am 
in  love  with  him.  Of  course  I  'm  not !  But  he  's 
so  loyal  and  so  good  that  he  might  want  to  sac 
rifice  himself  on  my  account.  I  want  to  make 
it  perfectly  easy  for  him.  I  want  him  to  marry 
you,  P.  de  Weed.  It 's  really  the  very  best  thing 
that  could  happen  to  him.  You  are  exactly 
suited  to  each  other,  and  you  'd  both  be  happy. 
I  'm  too  young  and  inexperienced  for  him,  and 
I  want  him  to  marry  some  one  who  is  clever 
and  good,  one  who  can  help  him  and  be  an  in 
spiration  to  him  in  his  work,  as  you  can.  You 
don't  mind  my  talking  so  frankly  to  you,  do 
you,  P.  de  Weed  ? " 

Miss  de  Weed  could  not  answer  for  a  moment, 
and  sat  silent,  patting  Elsa's  hand.  Then  she 
said,  "You're  a  wonderful  little  girl,  Elsa.  I 
don't  know  how  to  answer  you.  I  did  n't  expect 
you  'd  take  it  like  this." 

"  Oh,  I  've  thought  so  hard  about  it,  wonder 
ing  what  I  ought  to  do,"  said  Elsa  softly.  "  I  Ve 
lain  awake  so  many,  many  nights  thinking  it 
out,  but  it 's  all  perfectly  clear  to  me  now.  You 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

mustn't  think  I  'm  suffering  in  the  least  —  I'm 
not — I 'm  jo  glad  it's  all  settled.  I'm  really 
very,  very  happy,  P.  de  Weed.  Stone  and  I  will 
still  be  good  friends,  and  I  can  be  your  friend, 
too,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  can,  dear,  though  I  don't  de 
serve  it,"  said  Miss  de  Weed,  kissing  her  on 
the  cheek,  and  leaving  there  a  tear  or  two. 

"  Stone  is  selling  so  many  pictures  now  that 
he  can  afford  to  get  married  soon.  I  hope  he 
will,"  Elsa  went  on.  "  He  is  n't  living  the  right 
way  at  all,  now,  you  know.  He  needs  some  one 
to  take  care  of  him  and  see  that  he  eats  regu 
larly  and  gets  exercise  enough.  Perhaps  you  '11 
be  able  to  fix  up  the  studio  the  way  he  's  wanted 
to  for  so  long.  He  would  love  so  to  have  beau 
tiful  things  about  him.  He 's  planned  it  all  out 
so  many  times  with  me,  I  know  just  how  it 
would  be.  Oh,  but  of  course  he  must  have  told 
you,  too,"  she  sighed. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  de  Weed,  "he's  talked  to 
me  about  it.  He  is  so  fond  of  old  mahogany 
and  brasses  and  tapestries  and  rugs,  isn't  he? " 

"Oh, but  I  love  it  as  it  is,  though,"  said  Elsa, 
rising  and  going  to  the  fireplace.  "  I  love  this 
dear  little  old  grate,  and  the  torn  paper  on  the 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

walls,  and  the  cracks  in  the  floor  —  and  every 
thing  about  it.  Is  n't  it  lovely  when  the  twilight 
comes,  and  you  can  see  the  lights  over  there 
glowing  under  a  red,  smoky  sky  ?  Did  you 
know  that  there  's  one  little  place  between  the 
roofs  where  you  can  see  the  river  at  sunset? 
Then,  it 's  so  quiet  here.  I  've  come  in  so  many 
times  just  as  he  was  finishing  his  work  and  sat 
and  talked.  Oh,  I  do  hope  I  can  do  something 
for  him  occasionally.  You  '11  always  let  me  know 
if  there  's  anything  I  can  do,  won't  you  ?  Per 
haps  while  you  're  away  I  can  stay  here  some 
times." 

Her  eyes  wandered  about  the  room,  and  then 
a  brave  little  smile  fluttered  on  her  lips.  "  Is  n't 
it  strange  about  that  old  spinet  ?  Where  could 
it  have  come  from  ?  Was  n't  it  fine  of  Stone  not 
to  use  that  money  ?  But  now  I  think  he  ought 
to.  The  old  spinet  has  brought  him  luck,  has  n't 
it  ?  Just  think  —  every  time  he  has  played 
'  Robin  Adair '  something  perfectly  lovely  has 
happened.  I  wonder  if  it  would  if  I  played  it. 
I  'd  love  to  bring  him  some  good  luck !  I  'm 
going  to  try,  P.  de  Weed.  I  feel  almost  super 
stitious  about  it.  Perhaps  I  can  pick  it  out 
with  one  finger.  Let 's  see  —  how  does  it  go  ?  " 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

She  took  up  the  first  line  of  the  air  with  a 
soft,  pretty  voice,  quavering  a  little :  — 

"  '  What 's  this  dull  town  to  me  ? 
Robin  's  not  here  ! '  " 

She  sat  down  to  the  spinet,  and  with  her  little 
gloved  forefinger  struggled  up  the  scale  until 
she  came  to  B-flat.  Then  she  stopped  and  turned 
her  head  away  from  Miss  de  Weed  and  rose, 
biting  her  lip.  Her  self-possession  returned  in 
a  moment,  however,  and  she  even  succeeded 
in  a  wan  smile.  Then  she  went  towards  the 
door. 

"  It 's  fine  of  you  to  take  it  so  simply,  P.  de 
Weed,"  she  said,  bravely  holding  out  her  hand. 
"  But  I  was  sure  you  would,  if  I  were  honest 
with  you.  Now  I  must  get  away  before  Stone 
comes  back.  I  'm  going  home  to  write  him  a 
letter  that  will  explain  everything,  and  give  him 
absolute  freedom.  Good-by,  dear  heart,  I  'm 
so  happy ! " 

She  went  out  the  door  quickly  and  disappeared 
down  the  stairs.  Miss  de  Weed  arose  now,  and 
tiptoed  to  the  landing.  She  heard  the  footsteps 
patter  along  the  hallway  below  and  start  down 
the  second  flight  of  stairs.  Then  they  went 
slower,  and  stopped.  There  was  an  interval  of 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

absolute  silence.  At  last  they  started  down 
again  resolutely. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Stone  appeared, 
and  looked  about  the  studio  in  surprise.  "  Why, 
where  's  Elsa  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  She 's  gone  home,"  said  Miss  de  Weed, 
"  and  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  '11  lose  no  time 
in  following  her." 

"Ah,  she's  jealous  at  last?"  he  asked,  with 
a  great  hope  showing  in  his  face. 

"  No,  she 's  not  jealous !  "  said  Miss  de  Weed. 

His  face  was  drawn  and  haggard  now. 

"  Stone  Day,"  said  Miss  de  Weed  quietly, 
putting  on  her  coat,  "  you  have  a  good  deal  yet 
to  learn  about  women.  Elsa  is  not  jealous  — 
she 's  no  more  capable  of  that  than  she  is  of 
revenge.  She 's  too  sweet  and  fine,  she  's  too 
big  for  that  sort  of  selfishness.  I  wanted  to 
prove  to  you  that  you  can't  test  a  fine  woman 
by  common  jealousy.  There  's  only  one  way 
to  test  a  woman,  and  that  is  by  magnanimity. 
There 's  no  height  of  generosity  that  a  woman 
who  is  nobly  in  love  won't  rise  to,  there 's  no 
passion  so  strong  as  a  true  woman's  desire  to 
sacrifice  herself  for  her  lover.  Elsa  loves  you 
as  you  scarcely  deserve  to  be  loved ;  and  if  you 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

want  a  noble,  devoted  girl  for  your  wife,  go 
after  her  now,  before  she  has  suffered  a  moment 
longer ! " 

"  But  how  do  you  know  ? "  he  demanded 
wonderingly. 

"  Because  I  'm  a  woman  and  have  eyes,  I  sup 
pose.  I  've  seen  it  from  the  first,  but  I  wanted 
you  to  be  sure.  Ask  her  how  I  know.  Go  this 
instant  and  tell  her  everything.  Then  take  her 
to  dinner  and  bring  her  back  to  this  studio  she 
loves  so  much." 

He  left  her  alone  in  the  twilight,  and  hurried 
downstairs. 

•  ••••••• 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock  that  evening  when 
Stone  came  back,  with  Elsa  blissful  upon  his 
arm.  There  was  a  scrap  of  paper  under  the 
door.  He  picked  it  up  and  read  it  aloud. 

"  DEAR  S.  AND  E.,  —  I  have  been  suddenly 
called  out  of  town,  and  don't  know  just  when 
I  '11  see  you  again,  so  wish  you  both  joy. 

P.  DE  WEED." 

"  Funny  she  did  n't  say  anything  about  it 
this  afternoon,"  Elsa  remarked.  "  I  hope  it 
is  n't  sickness  or  trouble." 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  You  don't  think  she  —  she  could  have 
really  cared  ?  "  Stone  ventured. 

"  Perhaps  she  was  in  love  with  you.  I  don't 
see  how  she  could  ever  help  it,"  said  Elsa. 
"  But  she  seemed  so  happy ! " 

He  unlocked  the  studio  door  and  stepped 
in.  His  foot  fell  upon  a  soft  rug.  Even  in  the 
darkness  the  place  seemed  strange  and  changed. 
Then,  walking  toward  the  gas-jet,  he  struck 
against  a  heavy  table.  He  scratched  a  match, 
and  the  flare  was  reflected  from  the  polished 
planes  of  mahogany  and  danced  in  the  dull  glow 
of  brasses.  He  gave  a  cry  of  surprise,  and  Elsa 
clung  to  him  in  affright. 

Then  he  reached  for  the  gas-jet  and  lighted 
it.  The  room  was  transformed  with  heavy  rugs 
and  rare  old  tapestries,  old  furniture  and  odd 
ornaments  of  brass  and  porcelain.  Every  article 
he  had  ever  mentioned  was  there  in  its  place  as 
if  he  himself  had  arranged  it.  Heavy,  dewy 
bunches  of  violets  on  mantel  and  tables  sent 
a  refreshing  odor  that  permeated  the  place. 
They  stood  and  looked  from  piece  to  piece  in 
bewilderment.  Then  he  stopped  suddenly  and 
turned  to  Elsa  with  a  queer  expression. 

"The  spinet  is  gone  ! "  he  exclaimed. 


A  Miracle  in  B-Flat 

"  Why,  so  it  is  !    Our  magic  spinet !  " 

Then  she  sank  into  an  easy  chair  and  smiled 
up  at  him.  "  Oh,  Stone,  do  you  know  —  I  just 
remember,  now  —  I  tried  to  play  <  Robin  Adair' 
on  it  this  afternoon  —  but  I  broke  down  and 
almost  cried  —  I  had  to  stop." 

"  On  B-flat  ?  "  he  asked  seriously. 

"  Yes  !  "    Elsa's  eyes  were  open  wide. 

Then  she  added,  "  I  'm  almost  glad  it 's  gone. 
I  would  have  been  afraid  of  it.  And  we  would 
never  have  dared  to  play  f  Robin  Adair  '  on  it 
again.  It  has  brought  us  so  much.  It  has 
brought  us  all  we  can  ever  want,  has  n't  it,  dear  ? 
It  has  brought  us  each  other  !  But  is  n't  it  too 
bad  P.  de  Weed  is  n't  here  to  enjoy  it  all  ?  She  'd 
be  so  surprised  !  " 

Stone  Day  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  began  to  think.  After  a  moment's  silence 
his  face  broke  into  a  smile. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  she  'd  be  so 
much  surprised  as  pleased,  Elsa.  I  have  an 
idea  that  she  understands  this  sort  of  magic  — 
as  well  as  she  understands  women." 


VI 
A  Christmas  Cinderella 

THIS  story  is,  perhaps,  more  appealing  to 
women  than  to  men,  for  it  is  a  tale  of 
setting  rather  than  plot,  and  of  tempera 
ment  rather  than  of  "love  and  action"  as  the 
magazine  editors  say.  Women,  I  mean,  will  under 
stand  better  the  state  of  Ella  Norris's  unrest  and 
her  craving  for  the  many  foolish  little  things  that 
were  denied  her. 

I  think  it  was  a  remark  of  mine  that  led  Miss 
Million  off  on  this  track.  She  was  commenting 
upon  the  way  a  school-teacher  professed  to  enjoy 
her  work. 

"  Was  she  a  kinder  gar  tner  ?"  I  asked y  a  bit 
sarcastically. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Miss  Million. 

"Because,"  I  informed  her,  "a  kinder  gar  tner 
has  one  of  the  few  professions  that  attempts  to 
compel  happiness  and  enthusiasm  as  one  of  its 
duties." 

Miss  Million  seemed  struck  by  the  observation. 

['79] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

How  Miss  N orris  was  selected,  I  am  not  sure, 
though  I  know  that  she  was  not  the  first  one 
visited.  As  Reba  White,  Miss  Million  did  much 
investigation  before  she  found  the  heroine  she 
wanted — one  with  a  true  imagination,  a  sense  of 
the  Relative  Importance  of  Things,  and  one,  more 
over,  at  that  "  dead  centre  "  in  her  career  where 
a  school-teacher  is  apt  to  be  most  in  need  of 
Romance. 

I  did  my  share  in  the  preparation  for  this  little 
drama,  but  Miss  Million  needed  all  her  own  in 
genuity,  especially  in  such  details  as  the  making  of 
the  costumes,  to  ensure  a  success.  It  was  my  part 
to  study  Merryng,  and  as  we  worked  separately, 
it  happened  that  there  were  four  persons  to  be 
surprised  at  a  denouement  which  the  reader,  of 
course,  from  my  manner  of  telling,  must  foresee 
from  the  beginning.  'The  story,  however,  is  too 
dependent  upon  other  things  for  that  to  matter 
—  at  least,  I  think,  so  far  as  regards  women 
readers. 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

THE  new  nursemaid  was  a  decided  suc 
cess.  As  Miss  Ella  Norris,  the  head 
kindergartner,  watched  the  girl,  she 
congratulated  herself  upon  the  acquisition. 

Reba  had  already  dusted  the  room,  placed 
the  big  box  containing  the  "  second  gift "  on 
Miss  Norris's  round  table,  and  counted  out  the 
sticks  and  tablets  for  the  next  day.  She  was  now 
greeting  the  children  as  they  entered,  pink- 
cheeked  and  snowy,  hanging  up  their  garments, 
and  making  an  occasional  trip  to  the  washstand 
with  some  reluctant  youngster.  She  was  a  slen 
der,  graceful  girl  of  twenty-three  years,  modestly 
gowned  in  a  navy-blue  serge  suit,  with  smart 
collar  and  cuffs  which  called  attention  to  the 
exquisite  carriage  of  her  small  head  and  her 
delicate,  clever  hands.  As  she  stooped  over 
the  refractory  little  Italians  and  Hebrews,  her 
face  was  animated  with  an  engaging  by-play 
of  crinkled,  half-shut  eyelids  and  dimples  that 
played  in  and  out  of  her  cheeks. 

Reba  was  not  a  trained  kindergartner,  but  she 

[181] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

enjoyed  her  new  work  enthusiastically  and  in 
telligently,  and  had  already  proved  her  worth ; 
for  besides  her  regular  work,  she  played  the 
piano  and  led  the  singing  with  grace  and  spirit. 
Miss  Norris  was  beginning  to  find  Reba  as 
much  of  a  companion  as  a  helper. 

Ella  Norris  herself  was  of  a  different  type, 
and  had  a  less  alluring  feminine  charm.  She  was 
taller,  her  face  was  sharper  and  made  more  boy 
ish  by  a  mass  of  crisp,  almost  wiry,  curling 
hair.  The  severity  of  her  erect,  vigorous  fig 
ure  and  cleanly  chiseled  features  was,  however, 
tempered  by  her  clear  blue  eyes,  which  shone 
in  a  direct,  straightforward  gaze,  and  still  more 
by  the  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  her  speech. 
She  had  been  seven  years  in  the  harness,  and 
though  still  as  conscientious  as  ever,  at  times 
there  were  in  her  expression  symptoms  of  the 
inevitable  unrest  of  the  young  school-teacher, 
due  to  the  limitations  of  her  routine.  She  was 
apparently  at  that  crisis  where  hope,  if  not 
ambition,  falters. 

To-day,  perhaps,  this  was  more  evident  than 

usual.    The  new  class  was  crowded  and  unruly. 

Miss  Norris's  irritation  was  given  no  expression 

in  word  or  in  tone,  but  her  work  became  more 

[182] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

like  labor  and  she  performed  it  mechanically. 
When  the  time  came  for  "free  play,"  she  stood 
by  the  window  with  Reba,  watching  her  charges 
with  an  alert  ranging  eye,  and  for  the  first  time 
confided  in  her  assistant. 

"  Look  at  them  !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone 
whimsically  petulant.  "  Look  at  that  herd  of 
kobolds  who  have  me  in  their  power  !  —  Yes, 
Josef,  you  may  water  the  little  seeds  we  planted 
last  week  and  see  if  they  've  waked  up  yet." 
She  turned  wistfully  to  Reba.  "  Did  you  ever 
read  f  The  Princess  and  the  Goblins '  and  the 
rest  of  the  '  Curdie '  books  by  George  Mac- 
donald?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Reba,  "  I  should  say  I  had  ! 
I  remember  especially  how  the  princess  was 
lost  and  captured  in  the  underground  passages 
away  inside  of  the  mountain." 

"  That 's  just  the  way  I  feel,  somehow.  I 
seem  to  be  out  of  the  world,  and  forced  to  be  a 
slave  to  these  little  gnomes  and  pixies.  —  No, 
Josef,  not  so  much  water.  Be  careful,  or  you  '11 
drown  them.  Pauline,  you  go  and  show  him 
how  to  do  it." 

"  Perhaps  Curdie  will  come  and  rescue  you 
some  time,"  said  Reba.  "  Don't  you  remember 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

how  he  used  to  frighten  away  the  goblins  with 
his  rhymes  and  take  the  princess  home  ? " 

"  There  's  precious  little  chance  of  Curdie's 
ever  finding  me,"  said  Miss  Norris.  "  I  don't 
have  a  chance  to  meet  any  men  at  the  Johnsons', 
where  I  room,  and  even  if  I  did,  no  one  would 
ever  suspect  a  school-teacher  of  having  any 
imagination  or  romance.  —  Yes,  Judith,  I  see. 
Your  horse  is  very  pretty,  but  he  has  only  three 
legs,  and  he  would  n't  be  able  to  run  very  fast. 
Try  it  again,  dear.  Thank  you,  Walter,  you  're 
a  real  little  helper." 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  Gulliver  felt,"  she  went 
on,  "  when  he  woke  up  and  found  himself 
bound  by  thousands  of  little  threads,  a  giant 
forced  to  do  the  will  of  dwarfs.  That 's  the 
school-teacher's  life.  They  think  you  ought 
to  be  happy  and  contented  because  you  have  to 
be  with  forty  children  all  day  long.  —  Josie, 
you  must  let  Max  look  at  that  picture-book 
too." 

"  Don't  you  know  any  men  at  all  ?  "  asked 
Reba. 

Miss  Norris  smiled,  and  drew  a  little  yellow- 
haired  urchin  to  her  side  affectionately.  "  The 
only  man  in  my  world  is  one  who  lives  upstairs 
[184] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

in  the  room  over  mine.  And  all  I  know  about 
him  is  that  he  comes  running  upstairs  every 
morning  at  one  or  two  o'clock.  Then  he  walks 
back  and  forth  for  an  hour,  and  finally  throws  his 
boots  down  on  the  floor.  It 's  just  like  the  rest 
of  my  life.  It's  all  cut  and  dried  and  juiceless. 
There  's  absolutely  nothing  to  look  forward  to 
—  not  even  Christmas.  I  know  I  shall  go  to 
Aunt  Jane's  and  spend  a  perfectly  stupid  day, 
and  come  back  with  half-a-dozen  embroidered 
lawn  handkerchiefs,  a  dull  book,  and  perhaps 
a  pair  of  bed-shoes." 

She  turned  wearily  to  her  class,  and  with  an 
effort  assumed  her  professional  sweetness  of 
manner.  "  Now,  children,  play  that  you  're  little 
kitties,  and  see  how  softly  you  can  creep  into 
your  seats.  We  have  a  new  card  to  sew  to-day." 

After  school  was  over,  as  Reba  was  picking 
up  the  things,  Miss  Norris  sighed.  "  Oh,  I  wish 
something  would  happen  !  I  don't  insist  upon 
an  adventure.  I  don't  care  if  it 's  only  a  knot 
or  a  snarl  in  this  long  string  of  monotony." 

"  I  know  what  you  ought  to  do,"  Reba  ex 
claimed.  "  You  ought  to  answer  a  '  Personal ' 
I  saw  in  the  paper  this  morning.  I  '11  show  it 
to  you." 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

She  ran  out  and  brought  back  a  paper,  from 
which  she  read  with  merry  emphasis :  — 

"ANY  ONE  desiring  an  original  and  interesting 
Christmas  present,  who  will  write  stating  exactly 
what  is  wanted,  will  hear  of  something  to  his  ad 
vantage  by  addressing  Box  152,  Herald." 

"  What  a  ridiculous  advertisement !  It  must 
be  some  sort  of  advertising  scheme,  don't  you 
think,  Reba  ?  Oh,  of  course,  it  might  be  the  idea 
of  some  charity  or  a  millionaire,  but  rich  people 
never  have  enough  imagination  for  that.  I  sup 
pose  they  '11  get  hundreds  of  letters.  It  would 
be  rather  fun  to  answer  it,  would  n't  it  ?  I  'd 
never  dare  to,  though." 

Two  days  afterward,  Miss  Norris  came  to 
school  with  a  new  light  dancing  in  her  blue  eyes. 
She  sat  down  and  drew  off  her  gloves,  saying, 
"  What  do  you  think,  Reba  ?  I  answered  that 
advertisement  after  all,  and  I  Ve  just  got  a 
reply!" 

"  Have  you,  really  ? "  said  Reba,  going  on 
with  her  dusting.  She  kept  her  face  turned  away 
for  a  moment,  and  then  added :  "  Do  tell  me 
about  it ! " 

"  I  went  home  and  thought  it  all  over,"  Miss 
[186] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

Norris  replied.  "  It  came  over  me  again  that 
I  lived  in  a  world  I  could  see  but  not  touch.  I 
think  I  have  fine  instincts  about  things.  I  think 
I  could  be  rich  beautifully,  and  what  I  'd  like 
most  of  anything  is  to  have  one  chance  at  play 
ing  the  lady,  if  only  for  a  day.  It  is  n't  that  I 
want  to  be  a  heroine  of  romance  or  a  princess, 
but  I  'd  like  to  have  all  my  surroundings  right 
for  just  once — wear  the  beautiful  clothes,  es 
pecially  those  luxurious,  unpractical,  exquisite 
things  that  we  can't  afford,  and  would  have  no 
chance  to  wear  if  we  could.  I  want  to  live  in  a 
beautiful  house  just  long  enough  to  talk  with  a 
man  who  is  neither  a  fool  nor  a  fop  nor  a  flirt, 
and  who  would  never  suspect  me  of  being  a 
kindergartner." 

"  Did  you  write  all  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  more.  And  I  've  got  an  answer 
that  I  positively  don't  dare  to  believe  —  it 's  so 
wonderful  !  It 's  in  a  woman's  handwriting,  and 
it's  signed  *  M.  M.'  She  says  she  will  hire  a 
suite  of  rooms  in  the  St.  Elmo  for  Christmas 
day,  and  I  can  stay  there  until  midnight.  If  I 
have  any  fear  about  accepting  her  offer,  I  may 
take  a  companion.  She  offers  to  provide  every 
thing  I  wish  —  clothes,  meals,  servants,  every- 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

thing.  Oh,  and  the  most  wonderful  part  of  all, 
she  offers  to  invite  some  one  to  come  to  dinner, 
and  she  guarantees  him  to  be  a  gentleman. 
What  would  you  do,  Reba  ?  " 

"  Do !  I  'd  go,  of  course ! "  said  Reba.  "  You 
may  be  sure  that  no  woman  would  be  able  to 
do  that  for  you  at  the  St.  Elmo  unless  she  were 
all  right ;  and  oh,  Miss  Norris,  won't  you  let 
me  come  and  be  your  maid  ?  I  'm  sure  I  could 
do  it  beautifully  in  a  lace  cap  and  apron." 

"  Oh,  would  you  ?  If  you  will,  I  '11  accept  it. 
I  wonder  who  she  can  be." 

"  I  'm  wondering  more  who  the  young  man 
can  be,"  said  Reba.  "  But,  good  gracious,  it 's 
ten  minutes  to  nine  !  I  must  let  those  blessed 
infants  in." 

Miss  Norris's  eyes  had  idly  followed  Reba's 
movements  as  she  tucked  her  gold  watch  into 
her  belt.  "  Why,  what  a  beautiful  watch  !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  never  noticed  it  before.  Those 
garnets  on  the  back  look  almost  like  rubies. 
What  does  the  '  M  '  stand  for  ?  " 

"  It  used  to  belong  to  my  Aunt  Margaret," 
said  Reba.  "  They  do  look  like  rubies,  don't 
they  ?  "  She  flew  out  to  the  front  door. 

[188] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

In  a  front  room  on  the  fourth  floor  of  an 
uptown  lodging-house  a  young  man  named 
Merryng  sat  writing.  He  had  a  first  name,  but 
it  was  so  long  since  he  had  heard  it  that  it  would 
have  come  to  him  almost  as  a  shock  if  it  were 
spoken  aloud.  He  had  been  but  two  years  in 
New  York,  and  the  newspaper  office  where  he 
worked,  as  Federal  Court  reporter,  did  not  en 
courage  easy  familiarities.  He  had  few  oppor 
tunities  to  make  friends  elsewhere,  his  hours 
being  long  and  late. 

When  Merryng  was  free  from  the  routine, 
he  spent  his  time  in  an  avocation  which  sepa 
rated  him  even  more  from  ordinary  human 
sympathy.  His  employment  upon  this  partic 
ular  December  noonday  was  characteristic  of 
his  hidden  life.  He  was  writing  a  poem  of 
that  sort  usually  affected  by  the  young,  the 
ingenuous,  and  the  aesthetic  —  especially  fancied, 
perhaps,  by  those  who  have  been  steeped  in  the 
classical  courses  of  a  college  curriculum. 

He  looked  up  from  a  mass  of  scrawled  papers, 
whose  lines  sang  of  nymphs  and  groves  and 
fountains,  Hymettus,  Nepenthe,  Hylos,  and 
such  Greek  images,  and,  lighting  his  pipe, 
began  to  pace  the  floor  as  poets  must. 

[189] 

V 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Walking,  he  surveyed  the  room  carelessly,  and 
noted  every  horrible  solecism  of  his  landlady's 
taste  —  gilded  bamboo  easel,  velvet  mantel- 
drape,  painted  plaque,  black  walnut  furniture, 
and  pictures  too  distressing  for  description.  At 
last,  wearied  mentally  as  well  as  physically,  he 
threw  himself  upon  his  lumpy  couch,  and  with 
a  yawn  picked  up  the  morning  paper.  He  got 
no  farther  than  the  first  column  of  the  front 
page,  for  there  his  eye  stopped  at  the  following 
"  Personal:  "- 

"  ANY  ONE  desiring  an  original  and  interesting 
Christmas  present,  who  will  write  stating  exactly 
what  is  wanted,  will  hear  of  something  to  his  ad 
vantage  by  addressing  Box  152,  Herald." 

The  paper  dropped  from  Merrying's  hand, 
and  he  passed  into  a  day-dream,  spending  him 
self  in  speculation  upon  the  meaning  of  the 
notice  and  its  possibilities.  His  training  had 
fostered  a  cynical  view  of  life ;  for  owing  to  his 
acquaintanceship  with  the  Federal  Secret  Ser 
vice  agents,  he  was  an  authority  on  every  form 
of  confidence-game  extant.  He  had  grown,  in 
fact,  almost  to  suspect  a  man  to  be  a  fakir  until 
proven  honest ;  and  the  newspaper  advertise 
ments  were  to  him  things  almost  humorously 
[  190] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

incredible.  He  had  to  confess  now,  however, 
that  this  was  a  scheme  beyond  his  experience,  and 
the  temptation  to  investigate  it  was  irresistible. 
He  decided  to  make  his  researches,  however,  in 
a  private  rather  than  in  a  professional  spirit. 
As  he  wrote,  therefore,  something  of  his  poetic 
temperament  came  out,  and  inspired  by  the 
romantic  suggestion  of  the  notice,  he  took  the 
offer  insensibly  more  and  more  seriously. 

"  Box  152. 

"  DEAR  SIR  OR  MADAM,  whose  sublime  sug 
gestion  kindles  this  question  in  my  eager  breast, 
may  I  not  hope  that  I  shall  be  requited  and 
not  be  slighted  in  your  bequest  ?  What  would 
I  have  unique  and  interesting?  What  am  I 
questing  for  Christmas  cheer?  My  Muse  I 
seek,  indulgent  and  inspiring,  her  favor  fir 
ing,  divinely  dear.  Send  me  some  blue-eyed, 
fascinating  maiden  whose  lips  are  laden  with 
words  of  praise  —  a  loyal  friend  to  whom  you 
shall  confide  me,  to  help  and  guide  me  through 
dreaming  days.  To  her  may  I  indite  my  way 
ward  fancies,  my  mad  romances  and  idling 
prayer  ;  if  she  accepts  the  fruit  of  my  emotion, 
I  have  devotion  for  her  to  share !  " 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  There ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  signed  his  name 
with  a  flourish.  "  I  think  that  ought  to  hold  'em 
for  a  while.  If  there  's  possibly  anything  behind 
it,  they  may  be  interested,  but  if  it 's  a  faking 
scheme,  of  course  I  've  sawed  myself  off.  It 
does  n't  sound  as  if  it  came  from  Rahway,  New 
Jersey,  where  the  come-ons  dwell.  I  '11  post  it, 
though,  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  and  probably 
never  hear  from  it  again." 

As  Merryng  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
dressing  for  the  afternoon,  he  grinned  at  the 
thought  of  his  vagary.  "  It  would  be  a  big  thing 
for  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if  I  only  could  find 
some  blue-eyed  Athene  at  whose  shrine,  etc., 
etc.  But  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  content  my 
self  with  the  inspiration  of  that  girl  downstairs, 
who  always  wakes  me  up  by  warbling,  *  Every 
morn  at  eight  o'clock  I  bring  thee  violets.' " 

It  was  early  on  a  clear,  cold  Christmas  morn 
ing  when  Miss  Norris  and  Reba  called  at  the 
office  of  the  Hotel  St.  Elmo  for  the  key  to  the 
mysterious  apartment.  They  rode  up  the  eleva 
tor  in  silence,  holding  each  other's  hand.  The 
door  of  the  suite  was  opened  ;  they  walked  in 
and  closed  it  behind  them. 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

Miss  Norris  made  a  dash  through  the  rooms 
—  hall,  reception-room,  parlors,  dining-room, 
library,  and  bedchambers.  She  came  back,  her 
blue  eyes  burning  with  excitement.  "  Oh,  Reba," 
she  exclaimed,  "  it 's  marvelous  !  It  looks  as  if 
a  marchioness  had  only  just  left —  I  never  saw 
such  luxury,  such  pictures  and  rugs  and  furni 
ture  !  You  should  see  the  clothes  hanging  in 
the  closets  !  "  She  stopped  her  rhapsody  to  gaze 
at  Reba,  who  had  been  busy  with  her  costume, 
and  now  stood,  sweetly  deferential,  in  the  cap 
and  apron  of  a  lady's  maid. 

"  Shall  mademoiselle  put  on  now  ze  negli- 
g'ee?  "  said  the  girl  demurely. 

For  answer,  Miss  Norris  hugged  her.  "  Oh, 
you  lovely  thing!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  almost 
forgot  you  were  my  maid.  I  shall  have  to  call 
you  Babette.  Well,  Babette,  you  may  come 
and  help  me,  please.  I  'm  going  to  begin  at  the 
very  beginning." 

In  ten  minutes,  Miss  Norris,  dressed  in  a 
pale  blue  silk  peignoir,  sat  in  bed  propped  up 
against  lace-trimmed  pillows,  sipping  chocolate 
and  nibbling  crisp  French  croissons  and  hothouse 
strawberries.  Half  an  hour  later,  tubbed,  and 
emitting  a  fresh  odor  of  violet,  clad  in  a  dis- 

[J93] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

tracting  lace  Iiseusey  she  was  gazing  into  the 
mirror  of  the  low  dressing-table,  while  Reba 
loosely  coiled  her  hair.  As  they  laughed  and 
chattered,  they  were  surprised  into  silence  by 
the  sound  of  the  doorbell. 

Reba  ran  out  into  the  hall,  to  return  with  a 
huge  box,  which  when  opened  showed,  beneath 
layers  of  tissue  paper  and  damp  cotton-wool, 
a  magnificent  mass  of  white  roses  and  violets. 
Miss  Norris  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight, 
but  Reba  recalled  her  to  her  high-bred  pose 
with  a  glance  of  comic  gravity. 

At  nine  o'clock,  Reba  admitted  a  manicure 
girl,  who  kept  Miss  Norris  amused  for  an  hour 
until  a  hairdresser  appeared.  While  these  wo 
men  were  in  the  apartment,  her  demeanor  was 
dignified  in  the  extreme,  though  her  languid, 
bored  tone  was  at  variance  with  the  sparkling 
light  that  danced  in  her  blue  eyes,  as  she  ordered 
her  Babette  on  little  useless  errands,  or  gossiped 
patronizingly. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  she  began  the  serious  work 
of  the  forenoon.  This  consisted  in  reclining 
amidst  a  foam  of  laces  upon  a  wide  couch,  and 
tasting,  page  by  page,  the  score  of  new  books 
which  Reba  brought  in  from  the  library  table. 
[  194] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

As  her  amateur  maid  fluttered  to  and  fro,  chat 
tering  with  a  dainty  French  accent  and  com 
menting  upon  the  apartment,  Miss  Norris 
coquetted  with  two  or  three  volumes  at  a  time, 
raising  her  eyes  occasionally  to  gaze  as  if  in  a 
dream  at  the  tapestries,  the  pictures,  the  carved 
furniture,  all  of  which  were  blended  into  a  pat 
tern  of  rich  dull  tones,  her  glance  stopping 
where,  behind  a  shimmering  glass  and  silver 
screen,  an  open  fire  twinkled. 

At  one  o'clock,  Miss  Norris,  dressed  in  a 
trailing  green  velvet  suit,  so  smart  that  it  dis 
tracted  her  attention  from  the  luncheon,  sat  in 
silent  state  in  the  dining-room,  attended  by 
two  obsequious  servants.  She  was  almost  suc 
cessful  in  not  showing  her  awe  of  them. 

After  a  deliciously  idle  hour,  Reba  appeared 
with  a  fur-lined  leather  automobile-coat,  and 
announced  that  Miss  Norris's  motor-car  was 
waiting  below.  The  two  descended  to  the  street ; 
and  here  the  dream  shifted  to  visions  of  snowy 
pavements  and  noble  houses  swimming  by, 
vistas  of  park  and  river,  whizzing  cars  like  their 
own  which  raced  with  them  or  dashed  past, 
high-stepping  horses,  and  richly  furred  ladies ; 
and  through  this  turbulent  joy,  always  the 

[^95] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

broad  manly  back  of  a  silent  chauffeur  in  front 
of  them,  who  never  turned  or  spoke.  They 
came  back  tingling  with  the  cold  and  enlivened 
with  the  fresh  air,  to  find  tea  set  out  in  a  silver 
service  before  the  blazing  fire.  At  seven  o'clock, 
it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  Miss 
Norris's  excitement  mounted  at  the  thought 
of  her  approaching  guest. 

She  was  ready  early,  in  a  princess  gown  of 
black  chiffon  over  cloth- of-gold,  with  medal 
lions  of  black  lace  butterflies  and  a  string  of 
large  pearls. 

"  Babette,"  she  asked,  "  would  you  think  I  'd 
ever  been  a  kindergartner  and  talked  about 
cubes  and  spheres,  and  sung  c  Thumbs  and  fin 
gers  say  good-morning '  ?  If  there  's  the  slight 
est  trace  of  Froebel  about  me  at  this  moment, 
I  want  you  to  tell  me." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  Reba  prettily, "  I  have 
not  a  long  time  seen  some  one  so  charrrming 
as  you ! " 

Exactly  at  eight  o'clock  the  hall  bell  rang. 
Miss  Norris's  hand  closed  tightly  upon  her 
point-lace  handkerchief.  Reba  patted  her  on  the 
cheek,  and  then  pirouetted  airily  to  the  door 
and  threw  it  open. 
[196] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

A  young  man  in  evening  dress  appeared 
upon  the  threshold.  He  was  light  haired  and 
brown  eyed,  with  a  square  face,  cleanly  shaven 
and  strong  featured,  which  cracked  into  droll 
wrinkles  when  he  smiled.  His  voice  had  just 
enough  of  New  England  nasal  drawl  to  give 
to  every  remark  he  made  a  slightly  humorous 
effect. 

"  Does  Miss  Norris  live  here  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  awaiting  you  in  ze  draw 
ing-room." 

She  took  his  hat  and  coat  and  led  the  way, 
announcing  him  as  "  Mr.  Merryng."  Then 
she  retired,  leaving  the  two  alone. 

Reba  was  finishing  the  dinner  which  had  been 
brought  in  to  her  on  a  tray  when  Miss  Norris 
hurried  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  Reba,"  she  exclaimed,  "  he  's  perfectly 
lovely !  I  had  n't  any  idea  a  man  could  be  so 
sweet  and  so  strong  at  the  same  time.  And  do 
you  know  he  is  the  author  of  '  The  Newer 
Eden*  ?  Don't  you  remember  that  little  book 
of  poems  I  always  keep  on  my  desk  ?  Think 
of  it !  He  did  n't  tell  me,  either,  until  I  acci 
dentally  found  it  out.  I  happened  to  quote  two 

[197] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

or  three  lines,  and  you  should  have  seen  him 
blush !  Did  you  ever  see  a  man  blush,  Reba? 
It's  the  most  amusing  thing!  And  he  is  so 
sympathetic  and  chivalrous,  and  he  understands 
everything.  It 's  almost  like  talking  to  another 
woman." 

As  she  spoke,  she  had  turned  to  the  mirror 
and  stood  rearranging  her  hair  with  nervous 
uplifted  hands,  although  Reba's  keen  eyes  saw 
that  Miss  Norris  was  too  excited  and  pre 
occupied  to  realize  quite  what  she  was  doing 
or  saying. 

"  We  got  on  like  two  trotting  horses,"  she 
continued.  "  You  know  how  their  hoof-beats 
sometimes  are  all  mixed  up  and  then  suddenly 
they  fall  into  the  same  rhythmic  pace  ?  You 
must  hear  him  talk,  Reba.  Listen  —  I  '11  ring 
for  you  to  bring  in  a  scarf  for  my  neck,  and  you 
stay  round  as  long  as  you  can."  She  fluttered 
happily  out  of  the  room. 

Reba  now  flew  into  a  bustle  of  activity. 
There  was  a  large  trunk  in  the  dressing-closet 
which  she  went  to  first  of  all  and  threw  open, 
removing  the  trays.  The  bottom  she  filled 
with  the  slippers  that  paved  the  closet.  Above 
these  she  packed,  one  after  the  other,  the  walk- 
[198] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

ing-suit  that  Miss  Norris  had  worn  to  the 
hotel,  the  blue  silk  peignoir,  the  lace  liseusey 
the  green  velvet,  and  the  automobile-coat.  One 
whole  tray  was  devoted  to  a  long,  plethoric 
pale-blue  feather  boa,  to  numberless  scarves,  to 
boxes  of  silk  stockings  and  lace  handkerchiefs. 
Into  the  many  compartments  of  the  top  tray 
went  the  intricate  delicacies  of  the  toilet  which 
had  filled  the  bathroom  and  covered  the  dress 
ing-table.  As  she  was  stealing  into  the  library 
for  the  new  books,  she  heard  the  bell  ring,  and 
hurried  guiltily  back,  to  emerge,  sedate  and 
prim,  to  answer  the  summons. 

Miss  Norris  was  leaning  forward  in  an  old 
high-backed  chair,  her  eyes  following  Merryng 
as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  drawing-room, 
talking  earnestly.  He  stopped  for  a  moment 
as  the  maid  entered. 

"  Babette,"  said  Miss  Norris,  "  I  wish  you  'd 
fetch  me  a  scarf  for  my  shoulders  and  bring  in 
those  roses  from  the  dining-room,  please." 

When  Reba  returned,  Mr.  Merryng  did  not 
pause  in  his  conversation,  and  as  she  busied 
herself  for  a  moment  at  the  table,  he  was  say 
ing:— 

"  It 's  so  wonderful  to  find  out  that  there  are 

[  J99] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

women  in  the  world  like  you.  I  never  met  one 
before  to  whom  I  could  talk  as  impersonally  as 
to  a  man,  and  who  had  all  the  sympathy  of  a 
woman  besides.  Why,  I  Ve  told  you  things  that 
I  Ve  never  dared  mention  to  any  one  else  !  " 

"  I  think  I  do  understand  you,  perhaps," 
Miss  Norris  answered,  "  and  I  would  like  to 
help  you  and  encourage  you.  It's  a  strange 
way  we  Ve  come  together,  is  n't  it  ?  Rather 
like  a  beatified  practical  joke." 

"It 's  no  joke  to  me,"  said  Merryng  warmly. 

"  Such  a  thing  can  happen  only  once,"  she 
went  on.  "  Let  us  make  the  most  of  it  and  the 
best  of  it  this  evening,  for  our  lives  are  far 
apart.  This  is  but  a  chance  meeting  of  two 
roaming  souls,  and  after  to-night  we  must  pass 
on  according  to  our  orbits." 

"But  why?"  he  demanded.  "Why  not  con 
tinue,  now  that  we  have  found  each  other  ?  " 

Reba  heard  no  more,  having  loitered  in  the 
room  as  long  as  was  decently  possible ;  she  re 
turned  to  resume  her  clandestine  packing. 
When  it  was  finished,  she  took  a  tag  from  her 
satchel  and  wrote  upon  it  the  address,  "  Miss 
Ella  Norris,  180  East  Twenty- Fourth  Street." 
This  she  fastened  to  the  handle  of  the  trunk. 
[  200  ] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

Then  she  opened  a  door  into  the  hall  and  stood 
for  a  moment  listening.  Mr.  Merryng's  voice 
was  heard  rising  and  falling  in  smooth  cadences 
as  he  repeated  flowing  stanza  after  stanza,  Miss 
Norris  stopping  him  occasionally  for  apprecia 
tion  or  criticism. 

Ten  o'clock  struck  on  the  melodious  chimes 
of  the  hall  clock.  The  hour  progressed,  heralded 
by  the  music  of  the  quarter  chimes,  to  eleven 
o'clock  and  half  past.  Then  the  maid's  bell  tin 
kled,  and  Reba  went  into  the  drawing-room. 

The  light  from  the  great  lamp  illuminated 
the  two  as  they  sat  side  by  side  upon  the  couch, 
their  heads  together  over  a  note-book  which 
Merry ng  was  showing  Miss  Norris. 

"  I  suppose  that 's  the  way  it  comes,  usually," 
he  was  saying.  "Some  accidental  incident  or 
suggestion  occurs  to  me,  and  I  put  it  down 
here,  as  I  have  put  your  name  and  the  date. 
There  's  no  knowing  when  I  shall  come  back 
to  it,  but  I  'm  pretty  sure  to  find  it  has  grown 
in  the  dark  to  a  perfect  poem."  He  put  the 
note-book  in  his  pocket  and  rose.  "  Well,"  he 
said,  "  if  you  are  inexorable,  and  if  we  must  part 
forever,  I  suppose  the  time  has  come." 

"  Any  meeting  after  this  is  bound  to  be  an 

[201] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

anti-climax,"  Miss  Norris  replied.  "We  've  had 
a  wonderful  experience  to-night.  Let's  end  it 
artistically.  Babette,  have  you  packed  my  dress 
ing-bag?  Then  get  me  my  sable  cloak  and 
telephone  down  to  the  office  to  have  two  foot- 
warmers  put  in  the  carriage.  I  'm  going  to  put 
Mr.  Merryng  down  at  his  rooms  on  my  way  to 
the  Johnsons'."  She  turned  to  Mr.  Merryng 
again.  "  Oh,  the  Johnsons  are  so  stupid,"  she 
said.  "  I  wish  I  did  n't  have  to  go  there  to 
night.  There  's  a  young  man  there  who  bores 
me  to  death.  I  hope  I  won't  have  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  him." 

Reba  returned,  helped  Miss  Norris  on  with 
her  furs,  and  the  party  left  the  apartment,  Miss 
Norris  casting  one  last  pathetic  look  behind.  A 
brougham  was  awaiting  them  at  the  door,  and 
Miss  Norris  stepped  lightly  in. 

"  I  shall  send  the  carriage  right  back  for  you 
after  I  get  to  the  Johnsons',  Babette.  Mr.  Mer 
ryng,  just  give  the  driver  your  address,  please," 
and  she  sank  back  into  the  cushions. 

Mr.  Merryng  went  up  to  the  man  on  the 
box.    "  Drive    to    1 80    East    Twenty-Fourth 
Street,"  he  said.    Then  stepping  in  beside  Miss 
Norris,  he  slammed  the  door. 
[  202  ] 


A  Christmas  Cinderella 

For  a  moment  after  the  carriage  had  driven 
away,  Reba  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  the  dimples 
rioting  in  her  cheeks,  her  lids  half  closed  in 
merriment. 

"  1 80  East  Twenty-Fourth  Street  —  the 
Johnsons'  lodging-house ! "  she  repeated  to 
herself.  "  Poor,  dear  Cinderella  !  At  midnight 
your  coach  will  have  turned  to  a  pumpkin  and 
all  your  clothes  to  rags  —  your  prince  will  have 
found  you  out !  But  I  don't  think  you  '11  care, 
for  his  name  is  Curdie,  and  he  will  rescue  you 
from  the  goblins  with  his  rhymes." 


VII 

Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

IT  was  not  in  the  East  Side  tenement  districts 
that  Miss  Million  preferred  to  work.  She 
was  for  less  obvious  local  color,  for  experi 
ments  with  persons  more  nearly  of  her  own  sort. 
It  was  her  maxim  that  "  Spend  helps  Save,  and 
Save  helps  Scrimp,  and  Scrimp  helps  Suffer,  and 
Suffer  helps  Starve  "  — charity,  in  a  word,  to  be 
effective,  cannot  well  skip  classes ;  it  must  come 
from  those  nearly  allied  in  experience — all  charity, 
that  is,  which  is  not  institutional. 

How  wise  she  was,  these  adventures  may  show. 
Hers  was,  it  is  true,  "sentimental  charity  "  —  // 
/'/  were  charity  at  all.  She  herself  preferred  to 
consider  it  as  pure  adventure,  and  the  assistance 
she  rendered  as  merely  the  modus  operandi  of  ro 
mance.  To  stand  as  a  little  sister  of  Destiny  — 
that  was  her  game;  and  I  think  she  played  it  well, 
and  few  millionaires  have,  I  think,  in  simple,  hon 
est  enjoyment,  got  such  worth  for  their  money. 

I  myself  helped,  perhaps,  less  in  this  than  in 

[205] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

most  other  adventures,  but  still  I  was  by  no  means 
idle.  For  a  while  I  occupied  a  room  in  the  boarding- 
house,  and  was  privileged  to  watch  her,  as  a  ser 
vant,  bring  the  house  into  subjection.  She  was  the 
true  Princess  in  disguise,  and  played  her  part  with 
out  suspicion.  Old  Mrs.  Peterborough  and  I 
watched  her  as  she  watched  the  others,  with  tears, 
sometimes,  in  our  eyes.  You  may  think  of  her  or 
not  as  the  heroine  of  the  tale,  but  to  me,  as  goddess 
from  the  machine,  she  truly,  as  the  actors  say, 
"  created  a  part" 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

THERE  was  a  large  and  a  small  table  in 
the  dining-room  of  the  boarding-house. 
The  large  one  was  usually  filled  with 
perfect  examples  of  well-known  types.  There 
was  the  dowager  with  the  silken  thorax,  plus  jet 
trimmings,  the  thin,  anaemic,  affable,  wise  young 
man  with  the  high  forehead;  there  was  the  vo 
luptuous  widowette,  placidly  flirtatious.  The 
small  table  held,  with  some  good-natured  crowd 
ing,  the  select  coterie  of  the  house —  Miss 
Meadows  and  the  Three.  The  real  names  of 
the  Three  do  not  matter,  for  Cicely  the  maid 
had,  early  in  her  acquaintance,  nicknamed  them 
Shem,  Ham,  and  Japheth.  For  them  and  for 
Miss  Meadows  Cicely  did  extra-official  service 
in  all  ways  and  sundry. 

The  boarders  at  the  large  table  took  it  for 
granted  that  they  would  receive  a  clean  serviette 
and  a  new  tablecloth  at  each  meal.  They  made 
no  comments  upon  the  silver  service,  or  the 
stationery  in  the  library.  They  accepted  their 
fresh  linen  sheets,  their  thick,  tender  steaks, 

[  2°7] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

the  flowers,  and  the  two  bath-towels  a  day  as  a 
matter  of  course  —  as  they  accepted  indulgent, 
white-haired  Mrs.  Peterborough  for  their  land 
lady.  They  recommended  the  place  to  their 
friends  patronizingly,  and  were  often  surprised 
to  have  them  rejected  upon  what  seemed  to  be 
trivial  grounds. 

The  Three  and  Miss  Meadows,  however, 
were  more  sapient.  They  were  aware  of  the 
fact  that  they  were  occupants  of  a  remarkable 
boarding-house.  Few  places,  as  Shem  pointed 
out,  provided,  gratis,  such  cigars,  after  dinner, 
as  Mrs.  Peterborough's  "  Flor  de  Million." 
Ham  knew  well  that  the  inhabitant  of  the  ordi 
nary  hall  bedroom  seldom  found  himself  treated 
to  boot-trees  and  coat-hangers.  Japheth  had 
never  before  heard  of  seven  dollars  a  week  in 
cluding  electric  night-lights  by  which  one  could 
read  comfortably  at  all  hours.  As  for  Miss 
Meadows,  she  was  loud  and  jubilant  in  her 
praises  of  the  violet  water,  the  bath-herbs,  the 
sacheted  dress-hangers,  the  tape  towels,  and  the 
cheval-glass  with  which  her  room  was  furnished. 
These  phenomena  were  the  subject  of  much 
futile  conjecture  at  the  small  table,  the  inevitable 
result  being  that  Miss  Meadows  and  the  Three 
[208] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

would  congratulate  one  another,  and  knock  the 
under  side  of  the  mahogany,  lest  their  good 
luck  should  fly  away. 

Miss  Meadows  was  a  tall,  statuesque,  impe 
rious,  golden-haired,  blue-eyed  creature,  well 
dressed,  well  kept,  well  poised,  and  perfectly 
aware  of  her  own  powers  to  charm.  She  occu 
pied  a  front  room  on  the  second  floor,  where, 
for  at  least  four  hours  every  day,  her  typewriter 
could  be  heard  intermittently,  as  she  ground 
out  the  verses  and  short  humorous  articles  for 
which  she  was  becoming  well  known  to  magazine 
readers.  Everything  about  Miss  Meadows  was 
finished,  graceful,  and  dainty,  from  her  nails 
and  eyebrows  to  her  vers  de  soci'et'e.  Yet  she  had 
higher  aspirations  than  those  satisfied  by  the 
comic  muse,  and  when  her  day's  routine  was 
done,  she  took  up  more  earnestly  her  conscien 
tious  grind  upon  a  novel  which  she  hoped  would 
some  day  give  her  serious  consideration  among 
critics.  But  she  found  herself  often  so  lacking 
in  knowledge  and  skill  that  she  was  wont  to 
appear  at  dinner  discouraged  if  not  defeated  by 
her  task. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  she  would  say  to  Cicely, 
almost  every  evening,  and  Cicely  would  inev- 

[  209] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

itably  answer,  "  You  can  do  it,  and  you  've  got 
to  do  it,  Miss  Meadows  !" 

Cicely  herself  had  no  such  ambitions,  and 
was  content  to  go  on  from  day  to  day  with  her 
table  service  and  housework.  Every  one  liked 
Cicely,  and  by  reason  of  her  interminable  inter 
est  and  sympathy  and  her  never-failing  willing 
ness  to  listen,  she  had  wheedled  herself  into 
the  confidence  of  every  one  in  the  house.  She 
was  a  petite,  dimpling,  smiling  girl  of  twenty- 
three,  with  hazel  eyes,  the  prettiest  and  trim 
mest  of  figures,  and  hands  whose  delicacy  and 
grace  were  extraordinary  for  one  of  her  station. 
Rumor  had  it  that  she  was  distantly  related  to 
Mrs.  Peterborough ;  at  any  rate,  her  domestic 
attentions  in  the  boarders'  rooms,  and  her  fa 
miliar  engaging  presence  in  the  hall  and  din 
ing-room,  gradually  made  her  regarded  as  a 
confidential  ally  rather  than  as  a  servant.  Even 
Miss  Meadows,  the  imperious,  proud  beauty, 
had  graciously  condescended  to  bestow  a  sort 
of  intimacy  upon  little  Cicely  the  maid. 

Miss  Meadows  was  indeed  somewhat  in  need 

of  a  confidante,  for  proud  as  she  was,  she  was  not 

the  sort  of  young  woman  who  could  long  endure 

the  attentions  of  three  suitors  without  talking 

[210] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

it  over  with  some  one.  Propinquity  was  play 
ing  its  customary  part  at  the  little  table  in  the 
dining-room ;  and  the  young  author,  having 
been,  so  to  speak,  owned  by  a  syndicate,  would 
apparently  soon  have  to  choose  one  among 
them  for  her  future  manager.  She  had  alluded 
to  herself  as  "Miss  Meadows,  Limited,"  but 
she  could  not  carry  that  joke  much  farther. 
Shem,  Ham,  and  Japheth  were  already  showing 
signs  of  restlessness,  and  there  was  a  suppressed 
rivalry  evident.  Miss  Meadows's  tact  had  been 
put  to  a  severe  test  to  maintain  an  equality  of 
favors. 

"  But  don't  you  really  know  which  one 
you  care  for  most  ? "  Cicely  ventured  to  inquire 
one  morning,  as  she  dusted  Miss  Meadows's 
room. 

"  Well,  I  like  Shem,  because  he  wears  a 
smooth  shaven  face  and  has  a  sense  of  humor ; 
but  when  he  helps  me  on  with  my  coat,  he  keeps 
his  cigar  in  his  mouth.  Ham  does  have  a  mus 
tache,  but  he  never  tilts  his  hat  on  the  back 
of  his  head.  I  hate  Japheth's  pointed  beard, 
but  of  course  he  's  a  dear.  They  're  all  nice,  in 
their  way." 

"  Still,  there  must  be  one  —  unless  there  's 

[211] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

some  one  else,"  said  Cicely.  "  /  know  who 's 
the  best,  I  'm  sure." 

"  There 's  no  one  else,  and  I  know  who  you 
mean,  but  somehow  I  'm  never  sure.  I  'm  like 
the  princess  in  the  fairy  tale.  I  'd  like  to  put 
them  to  some  test,  to  be  sure  I  got  the  right 
one.  I  don't  want  to  marry  any  one  yet,  but 
I  'd  like  to  see  them  each  in  some  crisis.  Per 
haps  the  best  test  would  be  for  them  to  be 
successful.  Most  people  can  stand  failure  or 
bad  luck,  but  good  fortune  tells  the  story  of 
character  better,  I  think." 

Cicely  listened,  as  usual,  with  a  curious  quiet, 
bird-like  attention,  and  a  smile  that  half  closed 
her  eyes  and  deepened  the  dimples  in  her  cheeks. 
Miss  Meadows  went  on  with  her  typewriting. 
Cicely  still  watched  her ;  then,  when  the  room 
was  in  order,  she  ran  upstairs  to  talk  to  Mrs. 
Peterborough. 

•  ••••••• 

That  night  Japheth  called  upon  Miss  Mea 
dows  in  her  room.  Japheth's  blue  eyes,  pointed 
beard,  and  fine  dark  hair,  thinning  over  his  tem 
ples,  did  not  differentiate  him  obviously  from 
others  of  his  type.  In  a  company  one  did  not 
notice  him  at  first,  but  he  could  not  be  long  in 

[212] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

a  room  before  one  realized  that  he  was  there — 
"  always  on  the  boat  with  his  ticket  punched," 
Shem  used  to  say  —  modest,  strong,  observant. 
Then,  one  waited  for  his  quick  smile  and  his 
trenchant  remarks.  His  clothes,  neat  but  worn 
and  a  bit  old  fashioned  in  cut,  showed  a  pathetic 
attempt  to  be  brave.  Miss  Meadows,  in  her 
more  magnificent  moods,  rather  pitied  him,  but 
though  he  talked  little,  he  had  much  to  give 
her.  His  shyness,  his  tact  and  consideration, 
produced  a  feeling  of  restful  intimacy  and  con 
fidence.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  to  whom  a 
woman  would  most  readily  go  for  help,  sure  of 
his  willingness  and  his  judgment.  Shem  and 
Ham  paid  Miss  Meadows  all  the  conventional 
compliments  of  flowers,  books,  and  invitations, 
but  Japheth's  unobtrusive  kindness  filled  the 
smaller  chinks  of  her  leisure. 

He  waited  quietly  for  her  to  complete  the 
chapter  she  was  reading,  —  she  was  enough 
spoiled  by  her  attentions  to  receive  him  some 
what  cavalierly,  —  watching  her  spirited  face  as 
it  changed.  Then,  when  she  at  last  laid  her 
book  down,  he  said  :  — 

"  Maud,  I  got  a  raise  of  salary  to-day  at  the 
office.  I  've  been  made  head  draughtsman." 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  Really  ?  I  'm  glad  they  appreciate  you  at 
last." 

"  It  means  a  lot  to  me,"  Japheth  went  on. 
"  You  see,  I  've  had  to  help  my  mother  all 
along,  and  this  leaves  me  more  than  enough  for 
myself,  now.  It  will  give  me  a  chance  to  be 
more  original  in  my  work,  too.  You  know  I 
have  some  theories  in  architecture." 

"  I  suppose  you  '11  go  abroad,  as  you  Ve 
always  longed  to.  I  hope  you  can.  Italy  would 
be  a  great  inspiration  to  you,  just  now,  espe 
cially." 

"There  's  only  one  thing  I  want  to  do  more 
than  that — one  thing  that  would  be  more  of 
an  inspiration." 

"  What 's  that  ? "  She  smiled  good-naturedly, 
with  the  lamplight  striking  sparks  and  curling 
flames  upon  her  hair. 

"  To  marry  you,"  he  said  as  calmly.  He 
saw  her  face  change  suddenly.  The  smile  died 
away,  and  two  little  lines  came  in  her  forehead. 
Then  she  leaned  back  into  the  shadow. 

"  Oh,  Japheth  !  "  she  said,  "  I  'm  sorry  you 

said  that !    I  did  n't  expect  it  at  all,  and  I  hate 

to   hurt  you  —  but  you  must  n't  say  anything 

more  about  it.    If  I  had  thought  of  your  feel- 

[214] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

ing  that  way,  I  would  have  stopped  you,  but 
it 's  too  late  now." 

"You  might  have  seen  that  I  was  in  love 
with  you  long  ago,"  he  said.  "  And  you  '11  see 
it  for  a  long  time  after  this.  I  can't  stop,  even 
though  I  Ve  spoiled  it  all  by  speaking  too  soon 

—  it  is  n't  that  way  with  me.    I  shall  go  right 
on  loving  you  and  thinking  about  you  first  in 
everything." 

"  I  hope  you  understand,"  Miss  Meadows 
said,  "  that  I  don't  care  for  anybody  that  way 

—  I  don't  care   for   anything  but  my   novel. 
Even  if  I  did  love  any  one,  I  would  never  con 
sent  to   marry  until   I    had   finished   it.    You 
know  I  Ve  got  to  go  to  Colorado  and  live  there 
for  a  few  months  before  I  can  get  that  ranch 
chapter  right.     I  Ve  tried  to  fake  it,  and  use 
other    people's   descriptions,  but  it 's   no  use. 
I  Ve  got  to  see  the  life   myself  and   get   an 
original  point  of  view." 

"  There  are  things  enough  to  say,  if  I  wanted 
to  try  to  persuade  you,"  Japheth  replied.  "  But 
somehow  I  can't  say  them.  '  Faint  heart  ne'er 
won  fair  lady,'  I  know,  but  I  'm  too  fond  of 
you,  Maud,  to  want  you  if  you  don't  want  me. 
There 's  no  forcing  a  thing  like  that.  It  comes, 

[215] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

or  it  doesn't,  and  I  don't  want  it  by  halves. 
You  can  ask  for  the  things  you  don't  want  so 
very  much,  but  the  things  you  really  care  most 
for  have  to  be  given  to  you  freely.  I  'm  glad 
you  're  so  in  earnest  about  your  novel,  and  I 
want  you  to  win  more  than  anything  else  — 
now.  I  '11  try  to  adjust  myself  to  a  scheme  of 
things  with  you  left  out.  Good-by !  I  am 
leaving  you,  but  you  won't  leave  me,  Maud ! " 
He  left  her  with  a  smile. 

•  ••••••• 

Shem  was  the  first  one  down  to  breakfast,  the 
next  day,  and  he  came  in  high  spirits.  He  was 
jubilant  and  boisterous  enough  at  all  times,  the 
typical  hail-fellow-well-met,  with  a  slap  on  the 
back  for  his  men  friends  and  a  chuck  under  the 
chin  for  Cicely.  To-day  he  fairly  bubbled.  His 
round,  smiling  face  shone  behind  his  spectacles, 
and  his  hair  was,  as  usual,  not  unattractively 
tousled  in  baby  curls.  He  had  an  appearance 
of  boyishness  even  at  thirty,  and  though  liked 
by  all,  was  characteristically  a  man's  man,  amus 
ing,  awkward,  careless,  a  sort  of  human  New 
foundland  puppy,  from  whose  proximity  one 
carefully  removed  things  breakable.  He  was  an 
advertising  writer,  and  delighted  in  the  slang  and 
[216] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

gossip  of  the  town.  He  jumped  up  when  Miss 
Meadows  appeared,  to  pull  back  her  chair  for 
her,  tipping  over  a  glass  of  water  in  the  process. 

"Say,  didn't  I  tell  you  this  boarding-house 
was  haunted  ?  "  he  broke  out.  "  Did  n't  I  say  it 
was  improbable  and  impossible  ?  Did  you  get 
a  letter  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  two  rejections,"  said  Miss  Meadows. 

"  That 's  a  shame.  But  are  you  sure  you 
did  n't  get  a  long  yellow  envelope,  typewrit 
ten  address,  inclosing  ten  one-hundred-dollar 
bills?" 

"It  's  shockingly  bad  form  to  tell  your 
dreams  at  the  breakfast-table,"  said  Miss  Mea 
dows,  paying  more  attention  to  her  egg  than  to 
him. 

"  If  it 's  a  dream,  all  I  've  got  to  say  is,  don't 
wake  me  up!"  Shem  went  on.  He  took  a  ma- 
nila  envelope  and  passed  it  over  to  her.  "  I 
wish  you'd  look  at  that  and  see  whether  I'm 
crazy  or  not.  Don't  it  beat  the  Child's  Dream 
of  a  Star  for  human  interest  ?  " 

Miss  Meadows  drew  out  ten  new,  crisp  hun 
dred-dollar  bills  and  gazed  at  them  in  amaze 
ment.  "  Where  in  the  world  did  they  come 
from  ?  "  she  asked  wonderingly. 

[217] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  I  don't  know —  Heaven,  I  guess.  People 
are  n't  much  like  that  down  here.  It  looks  to 
me  like  the  beginning  of  the  millennium. 
Some  one  has  exercised  rare  discrimination,  and 
I  ask  no  questions.  It 's  a  ticket  to  Paradise 
accidentally  dropped  by  some  angel." 

As  Cicely  came  up  to  take  his  order  for  break 
fast,  he  took  her  hand  affectionately.  "  Cicely," 
he  said,  "  I  want  champagne  and  mince  pie,  this 
morning,  and  a  whole  lot  of  roc's  eggs.  I  Ve 
discovered  a  brand-new  fairy  godmother,  and 
I  'm  going  to  see  New  York  in  the  reddest 
automobile  that  swims  the  Broadway  Sea ! 
Selah ! " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  're  going  to 
spend  it  right  away,  d6  you?  "  cried  Miss  Mea 
dows.  "  How  do  you  know  but  it 's  some  mis 
take  ? " 

"  I  'm  going  to  bust  a  hole  in  at  least  one  of 
them,"  said  Shem,  "  and  I  invite  you  to  play 
with  me  till  the  detectives  arrive,  Maudie. 
That 's  my  name  on  the  envelope,  is  n't  it  ? 
There  's  no  doubt  about  it.  My  many  virtues 
are  at  last  discovered  by  some  keen-witted 
millionaire,  and  I  propose  to  be  a  credit  to  him. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  name  your  particular 
[218] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

brand  of  theatre  and  restaurant,  and  New  York 
is  yours.  We'll  make  gladsome  holiday  while 
the  sun  shines,  if  you  're  not  otherwise  engaged 
for  the  next  twelve  hours." 

At  this  moment  Ham  came  in,  and  sat  down 
with  a  nod.  He  was  a  smallish  man,  with  pink 
cheeks  and  a  silky  mustache,  which  it  was  his 
custom  to  caress  affectionately.  His  hair,  parted 
in  the  middle,  was  smoothly  brushed  and  trimly 
cut.  In  attire  he  was  point-devise,  speckless, 
spotless,  unwrinkled,  correct,  and  clean.  It 
needed  no  great  observation  to  name  him  a 
bank  clerk  —  the  very  polish  of  his  patent 
leather  shoes,  the  strict  accuracy  of  his  tie,  and 
his  well-kept  hands  attested  the  fact. 

"  Would  you  mind  pinching  me,  to  see  if 
I  'm  awake  ? "  was  his  first  remark  to  Shem. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  thatjy<?«  've  received 
one,  too!"  Miss  Meadows  exclaimed,  with  a 
shade  of  envy  in  her  voice. 

He  looked  up  in  surprise,  then  down  at  the 
envelope  beside  Shem's  plate.  "  What  does  it 
all  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Then  your  rich  uncle  in  Patagonia  has  dis 
covered  you,  too  ?  "  Shem  remarked  gayly. 

"  It  certainly  looks  that  way,"  Ham  replied. 

[219] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  I  don't  mind  saying  I  'm  rather  frightened. 
What  are  we  supposed  to  do,  anyway  ?  " 

"Take  it  like  a  man!"  said  Shem.  "If  any 
one 's  trying  to  play  horse  with  me,  I  '11  give 
him  a  run  for  his  money  !  " 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  inquired  Miss 
Meadows  regretfully. 

"  You  come  right  in  on  the  front  seat  with 
me,  while  the  roll  lasts,"  was  Shem's  enthusias 
tic  answer. 

"  I  have  thought  of  putting  this  in  the 
bank  till  I  see  if  there  are  any  further  develop 
ments,"  said  Ham.  "There  must  be  some  kind 
of  a  condition  to  this.  I  don't  see  how  I  can 
consider  the  money  mine  until  I  know  more 
about  it.  If  I  deposit  it,  I  '11  be  on  the  safe 
side,  whatever  happens.  One  can't  be  too 
careful." 

"  I  wonder  if  Japheth  got  a  letter  too,"  said 
Miss  Meadows. 

As  Cicely  came  up,  she  asked,  "  Cicely,  is 
Japheth  up  yet?  " 

Cicely  paused  at  the  little  table  long  enough 

to  say,  "  Why,  what  d'  you  think  !    Japheth  left 

the  house  half  an  hour  ago,  and  told  me  to  pack 

his  trunk  for  him.    He  told  me  to  say  good-by 

[220] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

to  you  all  —  he  was  sorry  he  did  n't  have  time 
to  see  you  again." 

Shem  whistled.  "  Foxy  Japheth  !  He  is  n't 
going  to  waste  his,  celebrating  with  his  friends ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ham,  "  he  must  have  got  one, 
all  right.  I  would  n't  have  thought  he  would 
treat  us  that  way,  though  !  Skinflint ! " 

Miss  Meadows's  face  showed  a  look  of  dis 
tress.  She  bit  her  lip.  Then  she  straightened 
herself  and  said,  "  Japheth  has  a  right  to  do 
as  he  pleases,  I  'm  sure.  There  must  be  some 
good  reason  for  his  going  so  suddenly.  You 
don't  know  that  he  got  any  money,  after  all ! " 

"  Cicely  !  "  called  Ham,  "  come  over  here  a 
moment.  Cicely,  did  Japheth  get  a  letter  like 
this  in  the  mail  to-day  ?  " 

Cicely  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 
"  Mrs.  Peterborough  has  told  me  I  'm  to  know 
as  little  as  possible  about  the  boarders'  mail," 
she  said.  "  There  's  only  one  thing  she  's  par 
ticular  about  in  the  house,  and  that 's  gossip." 

She  moved  away  unconcernedly.  Miss  Mea 
dows  smiled  faintly,  and  played  with  her  glass. 
The  two  men  looked  silly. 

"That's  right,"  said  Shem  finally.  "It's 
none  of  our  business.  All  the  same,  I  'm  dis- 

[221] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

appointed.  Can  I  see  you  in  a  little  while, 
Maud  ? "  Miss  Meadows  nodded,  and  Shem 
left  the  table. 

As  soon  as  he  had  left,  Ham  dropped  his 
voice  and  began  to  speak  to  her  with  a  new 
seriousness.  As  he  spoke,  Miss  Meadows,  still 
abstracted,  fingered  her  glass. 

"  Maud,"  said  Ham,  "  I  've  got  to  say  some 
thing  now,  while  I  have  the  chance.  This  thing 
has  made  a  tremendous  difference  in  my  pros 
pects.  I  know  just  where  I  can  put  a  thousand 
dollars  to  best  possible  advantage,  and  I  'm 
going  to  do  it.  If  all  goes  well,  it  will  be 
doubled  before  long,  and  then  there  's  one  thing 
more  I  want  to  invest  in  —  and  that 's  a  wife. 
I  can't  stand  this  syndicate  business  any  longer. 
I  'm  in  love  with  you,  Maud,  and  I  want  to 
marry  you.  I  would  have  told  you  any  way, 
in  a  little  while,  as  soon  as  I  was  sure  I  had  the 
right  to  ask,  but  this  good  luck  settles  it.  I 
hope  you  're  fond  of  me.  You  see  what  these 
other  fellows  are  like,  now.  One  is  a  happy- 
go-lucky,  extravagant  chap,  and  the  other  is  a 
stingy  sneak." 

"  How  dare  you  say  that  ? "  cried  Miss 
Meadows.  "Only  yesterday  you  called  your- 
[  222  ] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

self  his  friend,  and  now  you  suspect  him  of  the 
worst  possible  motives." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  Ham  asked,  coldly. 

The  tears  were  already  visible  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  did  not  answer. 

"  Well,  we  '11  leave  him  out  of  the  question," 
said  Ham.  "  I  'm  sorry  I  showed  any  jealousy, 
but  I  want  you  terribly.  Just  because  I  don't 
spill  over  myself,  like  Shem,  and  make  a  scene 
about  you,  you  must  n't  think  I  'm  not  in 
earnest.  You  're  the  girl  I  want,  and  I  must 
have  you.  I  'd  be  so  happy  with  you,  and  so 
proud  of  you,  as  my  wife.  Our  tastes  are  really 
alike,  and  you  'd  be  through  with  this  stewing 
over  a  typewriter  and  never  getting  anywhere. 
You  're  working  yourself  to  death,  and  it 's  all 
nonsense  for  a  girl  like  you  to  have  to  support 
herself.  I  'm  able  and  willing  now  to  do  all 
that  for  you.  I  love  you,  Maud,  and  I  hate  to 
see  you  eating  your  heart  out  in  a  boarding- 
house  bedroom.  You  're  too  young  and  good 
and  pretty  for  that !  " 

"  I  'd  never  give  up  writing,  at  any  rate," 
Maud  declared.  "  It  means  too  much  to  me. 
Oh,  you  don't  understand  !  I  must  finish  my 
novel  before  I  think  of  anything  else.  I  Ve  got 

[223] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

hold  of  something  too  big  for  me,  but  I  'm 
determined  to  win." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  Ham  was  patronizingly  in 
dulgent.  "You'll  get  over  all  that.  What  you 
need  is  a  home  of  your  own  and  some  one  to 
take  care  of  you.  A  woman's  place  is  in  the 
home,  and  that 's  where  she  's  happiest.  As  my 
wife  you  'd  have  good  society  and  good  clothes, 
and  a  husband  who  'd  be  too  proud  of  you  to 
let  you  bang  a  typewriter." 

"  Don't  ask  me  yet !  "  Miss  Meadows  im 
plored  him.  "  Not  here,  not  now,  at  any  rate ! 
Give  me  two  weeks,  at  least  !  " 

She  arose,  flushing  deeply,  and  went  upstairs. 
She  had  not  been  there  long  before  Cicely 
tapped  on  the  door,  and  came  in,  laden  with 
fresh  linen.  Miss  Meadows  put  her  arms  about 
the  maid's  waist. 

"Oh,  Cicely,"  she  pleaded,  "you  've  just  got 
to  tell  me !  I  must  know  about  it !  I  can't 
stand  it !  I  know  it 's  base  and  undignified,  but 
it  means  so  much  to  me.  You  will  tell  me  if 
Japheth  got  one  of  those  letters,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did.  I  took  it  up  to  his  room,  my 
self.  It  was  just  like  the  others,"  said  Cicely. 

Miss  Meadows  threw  herself  down  on  the 
[224] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

bed,  while  Cicely  tried  in  vain  to  comfort  her. 
"  Oh,  he  was  the  one,  after  all,  was  n't  he,  Miss 
Meadows  ?  Of  course  I  suspected  it  all  the 
time.  You  'd  best  forget  all  about  him.  He 
is  n't  worth  worrying  about,  in  my  opinion." 

Miss  Meadows  bathed  her  eyes,  and  sat 
down  to  her  typewriter  doggedly.  After  Cicely 
had  left,  she  heard  Shem's  lusty  voice  outside 
the  door,  demanding  entrance.  A  look  in  the 
glass,  a  quick  readjustment  of  her  hair,  a  pull 
at  the  curtain  to  shade  the  room,  and  she  let 
him  in. 

Shem's  spirits  had  not  yet  flagged.  He  held 
a  sheet  of  paper  in  his  hand  as  he  sat  down. 

"  Here 's  my  schedule,"  he  announced. 
"  I  Ve  been  thinking  this  fairy  tale  over,  and 
I  stack  it  up  this  way :  whoever  was  drunk 
enough  to  assist  Fate  and  Destiny  in  this  way, 
did  n't  intend  me  to  invest  a  thousand  dollars 
in  foreign  missions  or  contribute  to  the  hos 
pitals.  If  he  'd  had  the  charity  bug,  he  'd  have 
sent  the  money  to  some  one  else  besides  Hand 
some  Shem,  the  Joyful  Spender.  What  he,  or 
she,  or  it  wanted,  was  evidently  to  cast  a  ray  of 
sunshine  into  some  heart  that  knew  how  to  take 
a  thousand  plunks'  worth  of  solid  happiness,  in 

[225] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

one  gorgeous  hunk.  This  is  the  way  I  propose 
to  make  good.  Behold  !  " 

He  read  from  his  schedule :  "  Hansom  cab 
to  the  Bronx  Zoo  and  return  to  the  St.  Regis 
for  a  twenty-seven  dollar  lunch.  Automobile 
in  the  afternoon  through  the  Park,  stopping  at 
way  stations.  Dinner  at  Sherry's,  with  assorted 
friends.  Box  party  to  Mrs.  Fiske's  latest  his 
trionic  sermon,  and  home  via  Rector's  and  the 
Cafe  Boulevard." 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  added,  "it's  a  lot  harder 
work  to  spend  money  than  I  thought.  I  'm 
afraid  my  list  is  a  little  conventional,  but  with 
a  few  stops  at  jewelers',  perhaps  I  can  run  it 
up  to  a  decent  figure.  You  '11  help  me  out,  won't 
you,  Maud?" 

"  I  really  ought  to  work,  Shem  "  — 

"  Oh,  this  will  do  you  good,  and  you  '11  get 
lots  of  material.  I  '11  ring  for  a  cab  while  you 
put  on  your  things." 

"  Maud  's  the  hardest  girl  to  spend  money 
on  I  ever  saw,"  Shem  announced  to  Cicely,  as 
she  lingered  by  their  table  to  hear  of  the  day's 
doings.  "  She  was  forever  economizing  and  tak 
ing  street-cars  when  cabs  would  have  done  just 
[  226] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

as  well.  I  don't  know  how  I  would  have  finished 
that  hundred,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  her  lust  for 
literature.  That 's  where  I  had  her.  She  could  n't 
resist  Henry  James,  and  a  row  of  minor  poets 
made  a  very  respectable  hole  in  that  first  bill. 
Next  time,  I  'm  going  to  think  it  out  better. 
And  say,  Cissy,  there  was  a  red  auto  trailing  us 
about  all  day.  I  saw  it  four  or  five  times,  and 
there  was  a  girl  in  gray  in  it  that  might  have 
been  your  sister,  as  well  as  I  could  see  for  her 
goggles.  What  have  you  been  doing,  anyway  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  've  taken  a  day  off,  too,"  said  Cicely. 
"  I  had  some  important  business  to  attend  to, 
and  Mrs.  Peterborough  let  me  go." 

Shem  handed  over  ten  dollars.  "Next  time 
you  get  off,  Cicely,  you  get  in  and  enjoy  your 
self,  will  you  ?  Make  believe  you  're  the  girl 
in  gray,  and  do  it  well ! " 

"Thank  you,  I  shall.  I  have  a  gray  suit 
myself,"  said  Cicely. 

Miss  Meadows  worked  next  day  as  she  had 
not  worked  for  weeks,  and,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
she  called  Cicely  in  to  listen  to  what  had  been 
written.  It  was  a  favorite  experiment,  founded 
on  Dean  Swift's  advice,  for  Miss  Meadows  re 
garded  Cicely  as  a  good  example  of  the  Average 

[227] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

Reader.  After  the  day  's  installment  had  been 
discussed,  the  talk  became  more  personal. 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  yet  ? "  Cicely 
asked. 

"  How  can  I,  Cicely  ?  Shem  is  such  a  dear, 
and  so  generous,  that  no  one  can  help  being  fond 
of  him.  He  has  kept  me  laughing  for  two  days  ; 
but  Ham  is  so  much  more  in  earnest,  and  really 
knows  what 's  what.  But  a  man  ought  to  have 
both  prudence  and  impulsiveness." 

"  Japheth  has  both,"  said  Cicely. 

"  Japheth 's  out  of  the  question,  now,  I  'm 
afraid.  I  believe  he 's  gone  abroad.  It 's  a 
question  between  Shem  and  Ham." 

"  Three  little  nigger  boys,  walking  in  the  Zoo, 
The  big  bear  hugged  one,  and  then  there  were  two  !  " 

Cicely  chanted. 

"  Cicely,"  said  Miss  Meadows,  "  where  do 
you  suppose  all  that  money  came  from?  It's 
astonishing  !  It 's  positively  uncanny  !  I  feel 
as  if  some  one  were  experimenting  in  a  new, 
strange  way !  There  's  always  been  something 
queer  about  this  house  —  even  you  yre  queer, 
Cicely ;  you  're  not  at  all  the  sort  of  person  one 
usually  finds  for  a  waitress  and  chambermaid 
—  you  're  too  pretty,  you  're  too  intelligent. 
[228] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

But  who  could  have  so  much  money  to  spend 
on  such  an  experiment?" 

"  Oh,  probably  some  one  with  more  money 
than  he  wants  is  merely  amusing  himself  with 
the  boys.  It's  exactly  what  I  'd  do,  if  I  could 
afford  it  —  would  n't  you  ?  Or,  perhaps,  it 's 
some  one  who  has  taken  a  fancy  to  you,  and 
wants  to  help  you  to  make  up  your  mind." 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  up  my  mind,"  said 
Miss  Meadows  bitterly.  "  I  only  want  to  fin 
ish  my  novel !  " 

Next  morning,  while  Miss  Meadows  was 
sipping  her  coffee,  the  two  young  men  came  in 
together.  Shem  was  buoyant,  as  usual,  with  a 
button  off  his  coat,  Ham  calm,  dignified,  and 
immaculate. 

"  The  lightning  has  struck  again  in  the  same 
place,"  Shem  announced.  "  I  don't  know  where 
this  thing  's  going  to  end.  I  shall  have  to  cut 
off  my  little  finger  to  propitiate  the  gods.  It 's 
too  much  luck !  I  don't  dare  go  down  town  to 
day  for  fear  of  missing  something  in  the  eleven 
o'clock  mail." 

"  Did  you  get  another  thousand  ?  "  Miss 
Meadows  cried. 

[  229] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  That 's  what  I  did  !  Upper  Fifth  Avenue 
for  mine,  if  this  keeps  up !  I  can  stand  it  as 
long  as  my  anonymous  friend  can." 

"And  did  you  receive  yours,  too?"  Miss 
Meadows  asked  Ham. 

Ham  looked  sober  and  a  bit  embarrassed. 
"  I  'm  afraid  I  Ve  dropped  out  of  the  game. 
1  must  have  offended  the  Fates  in  some  way." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  sorry  !  "  she  said.  "  I  can't 
imagine  why  you  were  left  out." 

Shem,  in  consideration  of  Ham's  confession, 
forbore  to  give  further  vent  to  his  delight, 
and  the  three  finished  their  meal  constrainedly. 
After  Miss  Meadows  had  gone  upstairs,  and 
had  been  working  for  some  time,  Cicely  knocked, 
and  came  in  with  her  eyes  dancing. 

"  Miss  Meadows,"  she  said,  "  there  is  some 
thing  queer  about  this  house,  as  you  said. 
Ham  has  up  and  left,  too.  He  packed  his 
trunk  before  breakfast,  and  has  left  word  with 
me  to  have  his  mail  forwarded  by  a  messenger." 

"  Why,  he  did  n't  say  anything  to  me  about 
going"  —  Miss  Meadows  began.  "  I  can't  un 
derstand  it." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  said  Cicely.  "  He  got  one 
of  those  yellow  envelopes  this  morning." 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

"He  said  he  didn't!"  Miss  Meadows  ex 
claimed  in  surprise. 

"  That  gives  us  an  interesting  side-light  on 
his  character,  does  n't  it  ?  "  Cicely  smiled  till  her 
eyes  were  half  closed,  and  then  sang  merrily, — 

"  Two  little  nigger  boys,  sitting  in  the  sun, 
One  got  frizzled  up,  and  then  there  was  one  ! " 

The  immediate  effect  of  Shem's  second 
windfall  was  to  make  him  unexpectedly  pru 
dent.  He  made  no  attempt,  this  time,  to  cele 
brate  his  good  luck,  but  went  as  usual  to  the 
office.  He  manifested,  also,  an  extraordinary 
inclination  to  "  settle  down,"  and  spent  several 
evenings  in  Miss  Meadows's  room,  expounding 
his  views  of  the  quiet  life,  love  in  a  cottage, 
bread  and  cheese  and  kisses,  and  so  on,  all  amus 
ing  to  Miss  Meadows,  who  had,  heretofore, 
known  only  the  breezy,  adventurous  side  of  his 
nature.  She  grew  to  like  him  more  and  more  in 
this  character,  however,  and  looked  forward  to 
the  hours  when  his  semi-humorous  philosophy 
of  content  would  bring  a  pleasant,  comfortable 
peace  to  her  tired  brain.  Then  he  began  skip 
ping  a  meal  occasionally,  and  she  found  that  she 
missed  his  jocund  face  and  his  vivacious  slang. 

[231  ] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

A  week  passed,  and  she  had  not  seen  him 
except  during  his  hurried  breakfasts  at  the  little 
round  table,  where,  so  often,  she  had  to  eat 
alone,  when,  one  evening,  he  paid  her  a  visit  in 
her  room. 

"  I  guess  Fate  has  gone  out  of  the  miracle 
business,"  he  said,  throwing  himself  on  the 
couch.  "  The  thousand-dollar  flurry  seems  to 
be  about  over.  It 's  just  as  well,  I  suppose  ;  one 
more  installment  would  have  made  a  miser  of 
me.  Funny  what  poison  money  is,  is  n't  it  ? 
It 's  taken  all  the  starch  out  of  me.  Before  our 
mysterious  friend  began  to  fool  with  my  des 
tiny,  I  was  a  simple,  joyous  soul,  and  it  took 
little  to  make  me  happy.  The  world  was  mine 
for  three  dollars  and  a  half.  There  was  charm 
in  the  drama,  madness  in  music,  wealth,  health, 
and  happiness  in  wine ;  and  a  good,  old-fash 
ioned  time  with  the  boys  was  all  I  knew  of 
heaven.  Now  behold  me,  Maud,  descended  to 
the  vulgar  ideals  of  the  commonplace.  I  don't 
want  an  automobile  or  a  yacht.  I  want  a  seven- 
room  flat !  I  've  a  wild  desire  to  nail  down  car 
pets  and  hang  up  pictures.  I  'm  domesticated 
to  the  level  of  the  most  ordinary  commuter. 
Maud,  don't  faint  when  I  tell  you,  —  don't  say 
[  232] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

it 's  too  sudden  to  be  true,  —  but  the  one  yearn 
of  my  existence  is  now  to  see  a  pair  of  little  No. 
2  A  shoes  beside  mine  on  the  fender,  of  an 
evening,  if  we  can  afford  a  fender,  and  have 
somebody  with  a  red-hot  steak  ready  for  me  at 
six  o'clock.  I  've  sunk  as  low  as  that.  What 
d' you  think?" 

Miss  Meadows  had  shown  signs  of  agitation, 
and  now  she  forced  a  smile.  "  Oh,  I  can't  be 
lieve  it !  You  '11  get  over  this  mood  in  a  week." 

"  In  a  week,"  said  Shem,  folding  his  arms, 
and  cocking  his  head  on  one  side,  "  I  shall  be 
married — to  a  girl  I  've  known  ever  since  I 
wore  kilts,  and  never  knew  I  loved  till  last 
night.  I  've  had  symptoms  before,  but  this  is 
a  real  case.  I  am  certainly  going  to  commit 
matrimony  with  malice  aforethought,  Maud, 
so  congratulate  me!  " 

She  had  recovered  her  composure  at  the  first 
hint,  and  now  held  out  her  hand  cordially.  "  I 
do  !  "  she  said.  "  But  I  'm  sorry  to  lose  you, 
for  I  suppose  you  '11  be  leaving  soon." 

"To-morrow  —  so  good-by,  Maud,  and  do 
come  round  and  see  me  take  the  fatal  plunge. 
I  '11  send  you  word  when  and  where  and  how." 

........ 

[  233] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

The  next  day  Miss  Meadows  breakfasted 
alone  at  the  little  round  table.  She  had  arisen 
late,  and  was  in  no  mood  for  work.  So  she  dal 
lied  with  her  egg  and  coffee  listlessly,  or  traced 
figures  upon  the  tablecloth  with  her  spoon,  un 
conscious  of  the  lapse  of  time.  No  one  would 
have  known  her  for  the  imperious,  self-satisfied, 
spoiled  beauty  of  two  weeks  ago. 

Cicely  came  up  with  her  perennial  smile. 

"  One  little  nigger  boy,  living  all  alone, 
He  got  married,  and  then  there  was  none ! ' ' 

she  warbled.  "Well,"  she  added,  "I  do  hope 
the  person  who  's  been  meddling  with  the  affairs 
of  this  house  is  satisfied  now !  The  last  inter 
esting  man  is  gone,  and  you  're  not  married  off 
yet,  Miss  Meadows.  But  there  may  be  more 
chances.  Perhaps  your  turn  will  come  next." 

"  I  'm  afraid  my  turn  has  come  and  gone," 
was  the  moody  answer. 

"  Why,  I  did  n't  know  but  that  you  got  some 
good  news  in  that  letter  I  put  under  your  door 
this  morning,"  said  Cicely,  in  some  surprise. 

"  I  did  n't  see  any  letter !  I  was  thinking 
about  something  so  hard  that  probably  I  didn't 
notice  it." 

"  Do  let  me  get  it  for  you,  then,"  said  Cicely ; 
[  234  ] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

and,  as  Miss  Meadows  went  on  with  her  break 
fast,  the  little  maid  nimbly  ran  upstairs,  to  re 
turn  soon  with  an  envelope.  Miss  Meadows 
opened  it  with  her  fork,  looked  in,  and  then 
turned  an  excited  face  to  the  waitress. 

"  Cicely,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  money  !  I  do 
believe  it 's  going  to  happen  to  me,  too,  after 
all !  Is  n't  it  perfectly  lovely !  Look !  One, 
two,  three,  four,  six,  eight,  ten  hundred  dollars  ! 
Oh,  Cicely,  I  want  to  scream  !  " 

Cicely  smiled  calmly.  "  It  must  be  nice  to 
get  so  much  money,"  was  all  she  said  ;  but 
there  was  no  trace  of  envy  upon  her  face. 

"  Oh,  I  wishjy0#  Vget  some,  too  !  "  said  Miss 
Meadows.  "  If  I  only  knew  who  sent  this,  I  'd 
ask  them  to  remember  you  —  you  've  been  so 
dear  to  all  of  us !  " 

"  It  would  n't  do  any  good,"  Cicely  said,  se 
riously  now ;  "  the  person  who  sent  you  that 
money  has  precious  little  more  to  give  away." 

Miss  Meadows  looked  up  in  astonishment. 
"Why,  have  you  any  idea  who  sent  this  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have.  It 's  from  some  one  who  wants 
you  to  use  it  for  your  trip  out  West,  so  that  you 
can  finish  your  novel  and  become  famous." 

[235] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  was  told.  You  see,  the  one  who  sent 
it  did  n't  want  to  be  thanked,  and  does  n't 
want  you  to  feel  under  the  slightest  obligation. 
You  're  to  use  this  money  only  for  that  especial 
purpose." 

"Tell  me  who  it  is!" 

"  I  promised  not  to,  Miss  Meadows,  but  I 
can  tell  you  this:  there's  a  ranch  in  the  Red 
River  Valley,  in  Colorado,  where  you  '11  find 
just  exactly  the  material  you  want.  It 's  owned 
by  a  Mr.  Oscar  Jefferson,  and  his  wife  will 
board  you.  He  has  plenty  of  horses,  and 
he  can  talk.  You  take  the  D.  &  R.  G.  from 
Denver  to  Calhoun,  and  from  there  by  stage 
to  Grisly  Peak.  When  you  decide  to  come, 
Mr.  Jefferson  will  meet  you  at  the  Florodora 
Hotel." 

Miss  Meadows  looked  straight  into  Cicely's 
eyes.  "  Cicely,"  she  said,  "  there 's  only  one  per 
son  in  the  world  who  would  go  to  such  pains  to 
find  all  that  out  for  me,  and  that  person  must 
have  sent  me  this  money." 

"  I  promised  not  to  tell,  and  I  must  keep 
my  word,  this  time,"  Cicely  said,  stoutly. 

"  That  one  person,"  Miss  Meadows  went 
[236] 


Not  to  Speak  of  Cicely 

on,  and  her  voice  broke  queerly  as  she  spoke, 
"  is  dear  old  Japheth.  I  won't  ask  you  if  this 
is  the  money  he  got,  Cicely,  but,  Cicely,"  — 
she  took  Cicely's  hand  and  looked  at  her 
through  tears,  — "  won't  you  please  tell  me 
where  Japheth  is  ?  " 

"  Japheth 's  in  Colorado,"  said  Cicely,  smil 
ing  again. 

Miss  Meadows  broke  down,  now,  and  laid 
her  head  on  the  table,  speaking  between  her 
sobs.  Her  imperiousness  had  gone,  long  ago. 
"  Cicely,  dear,  Japheth  once  told  me  that  the 
things  one  wanted  most  could  n't  be  asked  for 
—  they  had  to  be  given  freely  —  I  've  got  some 
thing  I  want  to  give  him  —  I  think  I  '11  tele 
graph  him  to  wait  there  till  I  can  come  out  — 
I  can  finish  my  novel  just  as  well  after  —  after 
we  're  married." 

She  raised  her  head,  now,  and  smiled  beauti 
fully.  Then  she  added  :  "  But  we  '11  come  back 
here  to  live,  Cicely !  I  love  this  boarding- 
house  ! " 

"  I  'm  awfully  afraid  you  can't,  Miss  Mea 
dows,"  said  Cicely,  gathering  up  the  dishes. 
"  Mrs.  Peterborough  is  going  to  give  up  the 
house,  and  I  've  already  got  another  place  !  " 


VIII 

The  New  York  and  Arcady 
Railroad 

IT  should  go  without  saying  that  part  of  this 
story,  the  chief  part,  I  did  not  know  till  so 
long  afterward  that  it  did  not  matter.    Not 
that  it  would  have  mattered  then,  I  suppose,  for 
I  had  had  my  fortune  for  a  day,  and  that  gave  me 
a  new  power  over  my  own  will. 

It  all  seems  foolish  enough,  now,  for  me  to  have 
stood  off  and  made  her  do  the  wooing,  but  I  was 
young  and  proud.  I  did  not  know  then  how  little 
such  things  should  matter  in  love's  sight.  But  I 
learned  before  long  a  new  lesson  from  Miss  Mil 
lion  ;  I  learned  the  unselfishness  not  only  of  gen 
erosity,  but  of  acceptance.  She,  knowing  how  much 
more  blessed  it  is  to  give  than  to  receive,  could, 
with  all  her  longing  for  generosity,  accept  gener 
ously.  In  this  she  was  as  simple  as  in  her  giving, 
and  giving  was  so  natural  a  part  of  her  character 
that  she  seemed  to  expect  it  of  others,  often  even 

[239  ] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

forgetting  her  thanks ,  taking  the  gift  for  granted, 
as  one  she  would  have  made  herself  without  think 
ing,  had  the  -positions  been  reversed. 

As  it  happened,  too,  the  loss  of  five  millions  was 
hardly  felt  at  all  by  Miss  Million,  for  she  became 
heir  to  her  Aunt  Margaret  shortly  after  we  were 
married.  And  I  think  that  no  one,  even  Miss 
Million  herself,  could  have  used  that  money  more 
wisely  than  did  Mary,  for  the  story  of  her  spend 
ing  of  it  would  make  another  book  as  long  as  this. 

And  so  I  leave  you.  I  am  still  in  Arcady  with 
Margaret,  and  I  hope  never  to  venture  far  away. 


The  New  York  and  Arcady 
Railroad 

IT  was  Margaret  Million's  birthday,  —  she 
was  twenty-four,  —  youth  was  still  bub 
bling  up  in  her  glass,  and  the  fountain 
seemed  ceaseless.  She  had  health,  wealth,  wit, 
and  beauty.  She  had  brought  the  priceless  gift 
of  romance  to  many,  she  had  suffered  and  re 
joiced  with  them,  she  had  played  the  part  of 
a  little  sister  of  Destiny  —  was  it  not  time  for 
her  to  be  the  heroine?  She  had  just  discovered 
herself  to  be  in  love,  but  money  could  not  buy 
her  happiness ;  indeed,  her  money  might  only 
drive  it  away. 

It  was  with  such  thoughts  that  Miss  Million 
returned  from  the  boarding-house,  where,  un 
known  and  unsuspected,  she  had  put  a  delicate, 
urgent  finger  between  the  strands  of  fate,  and 
had  drawn  them  wondrously  aside,  bringing 
hidden  golden  threads  up  into  the  gray  pattern 
of  two  lives. 

She  opened  the  door  of  her  apartment,  and, 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

still  disguised  in  the  black  frock  and  the  linen 
cuffs  and  collars  of  a  housemaid,  entered  the 
Indian  hall.  Lonely  as  her  birthday  might  be, 
she  was  glad  to  be  at  home  again. 

Hachewa,  her  Navajo  maid,  parted  the 
portieres  and  greeted  her  with  customary  sto 
lidity. 

"  Mr.  Rayne  is  here,  waiting  for  you  in  the 
library,"  she  announced. 

Miss  Million  nodded  and  passed  into  her 
chamber.  In  twenty  minutes  she  returned, 
gowned  in  lace  pervaded  with  pearls  over  rose 
chiffon,  like  a  cobweb  bedecked  with  dewdrops. 
A  pink  rose  was  in  her  hair.  She  saw  no  one 
in  the  library,  but,  questing  the  room,  her  eyes 
fell  upon  a  mimic  scene  laid  out  upon  the 
floor.  In  a  moment  she  was  on  her  knees  be 
fore  it,  uttering  a  cry  of  delight.  Then,  by  a 
reaction  of  feeling,  her  eyes  were  suffused  with 
tears. 

It  was  a  tiny  replica,  in  painted  pasteboard, 
of  her  ranch-house  in  California,  set  in  a  grove 
of  toy  trees,  surrounded  by  the  familiar  paths 
and  roads  in  sandpaper.  Not  a  shed  or  out 
building  was  missing.  It  was  like  looking 
through  the  small  end  of  a  telescope.  The 
[242] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

house  windows  were  made  from  sheets  of  mica ; 
and  behind  the  little  white  sashes  were  draped 
lacy  paper  curtains.  On  the  broad  front  porch 
was  her  hammock,  her  chair,  even  her  faded 
pink  sunbonnet.  From  the  chimney  curled  a 
rising  thread  of  perfumed  smoke. 

The  one  incongruous  detail  was  the  toy  rail 
road  track,  which,  curving  round  the  house, 
came  from  and  returned  to  the  room  beyond. 
In  another  moment,  however,  its  function  was 
evident.  She  heard  a  labored  puffing  of  steam ; 
then,  climbing  over  the  grade  at  the  door-sill 
and  hurrying  down  the  decline,  to  career  dan 
gerously  round  the  curve,  came  a  Lilliputian 
train,  pulled  by  a  ridiculously  energetic  locomo 
tive. 

She  stopped  it  as  it  passed,  seeing  a  note  in 
one  of  the  open  cars.  In  it  was  written:  — 

*'  Please  take  this  magic-carpet  train 
And  make  yourself —  at  home  ! 
And  take  my  greetings,  if  you  '11  deign 
To  read  this  birthday  pome." 

She  placed  a  book  upon  the  track,  and  leaving 
the  little  engine  like  a  tied  kitten  struggling  to 
get  away,  she  ran  to  her  desk  and  wrote  upon 
a  sheet  of  paper:  — 

[243] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

"  DEAR  MAGIC,  —  You  have  sent  me  a  cargo 
of  smiles  and  tears.  Do  take  the  train  and 
come  to  share  them  with  me.  M.  M." 


In  another  moment  Winton  Rayne  came  in 
and  found  her  still  seated  on  the  floor.  She  held 
up  her  hand  for  him  to  kiss,  and  said  :  — 

"  It  was  so  dear  of  you  to  get  this  beautiful 
little  ranch  for  me ;  but  oh,  it  does  make  me  so 
homesick  !  Did  you  want  to  drive  me  back  to 
California  ?  I  wish  we  could  get  into  that  little 
train  together  and  go  somewhere  —  I  don't 
exactly  know  where." 

An  answer  seemed  to  flutter  on  his  lips,  only 
to  be  sent  back  in  disgrace.  "  It  is  dark  there 
behind  the  curtain  where  the  train  went,"  he 
said;  "it  might  be  dangerous  traveling!  " 

"  But  I  want  to  go  behind  the  curtain  !  I  Ve 
been  behind  the  curtain  of  other  lives,  you 
know.  Now  I  want  to  explore  my  own  !  " 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid  of  the  dark  ?  "  he  ques 
tioned;  "we  might  upset  and  fall  out." 

"  I  would  n't  be  afraid,  with  you,"  she  dared, 
her  eyes  fixed  shining  upon  him. 

He  resisted  even  this  encouragement,  but 
the  effort  drew  a  triangularly-cleft  frown  be- 
[244] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

tween  his  brows,  and  shut  his  fine  lips  below 
his  closely-cropped  black  mustache;  his  brown 
eyes,  usually  so  direct  and  fearless,  turned  from 
the  sight  of  her.  Suddenly  he  shook  himself 
free  from  his  mood. 

"  I  have  n't  given  you  your  real  presents 
yet,"  he  said.  "  I  have  one  for  every  birthday 
you  've  had." 

He  went  out  into  the  hall  and  brought  in  a 
clothes-basket  filled  with  packages.  "  Here  they 
are,"  he  began ;  "  I  '11  give  them  to  you  in  chro 
nological  order.  The  first  one  is  dated  1881." 

He  handed  them  to  her,  one  by  one,  and 
she  opened  them  as  gleefully  as  a  child,  with  a 
running  fire  of  comment. 

"  One  year  —  a  rattle,  of  course  !  And  I  Ve 
never  been  rattled  since,  I  believe.  Two  years 
—  a  silver  mug  with  my  name  engraved  on  it. 
Yes,  I  remember  that !  Three  years  old  —  a  rub 
ber  ball.  Four — a  doll.  Five  —  the  '  Chatter 
box  '  —  I  remember  every  picture  in  it.  Six 
years  —  a  kaleidoscope — I  haven't  outgrown 
my  love  for  them  yet.  Seven  —  a  paint-box,  no 
compliment  to  my  complexion.  Eight  years  — 
oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  A  carnelian  ring  —  I  have  n't 
seen  one  for  perfect  ages ! " 

[245] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

She  placed  it  upon  her  little  finger,  smiling 
quietly.  "  I  can  just  remember  a  little  boy  with 
red  hair  and  freckles  "  — 

"Nine  years  —  an  autograph  album — did 
you  ever !  Have  you  written  in  it  ?  Oh,  yes, 
here  it  is,  with  secrets  and  initials  in  the  cor 
ner  and  the  regulation  verse  — '  I  thought  and 
thought  and  thought  in  vain,  at  last  I  thought 
I  'd  write  my  name.'  With  your  name  erased 
and  carefully  rewritten,  of  course.  Yes,  I  know 
you  could  write  better  than  that — you  need  n't 
apologize.  Ten  years  old,  now  —  a  scrap-book, 
with  pages  for  a  paper-doll's  dining-room,  bed 
room,  kitchen,  and  everything.  I  'm  going  to 
cut  some  beautiful  furniture  out  of  the  maga 
zines.  Eleven  —  how  did  you  know  I  used  to 
love  tops?  I  was  the  worst  tomboy  in  town,  of 
course ;  every  nice  girl  is.  Twelve  —  a  jump- 
rope.  I  can  do  pepper,  right  now,  faster  than 
anybody  you  ever  saw !  Thirteen  —  Roman 
sash.  Oh,  dear  !  I  'm  growing  up  !  I  would 
have  been  crazy  about  that  when  I  was  a  girl. 
Fourteen  —  bangle  with  engraved  dimes.  What 
I  really  had  was  a  strawberry  broncho  and  a 
Mexican  saddle,  and  a  quirt  with  a  gold  nugget 
in  the  butt  of  it.  Pa  struck  it  rich  that  year. 
[246] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

Fifteen — what  lovely  green  beads — my  favorite 
color !  I  '11  put  them  right  on.  Are  n't  they 
becoming?  Sixteen  —  a  fan.  I 'm  beginning  to 
dance  — the  first  one  I  ever  went  to  was  a  Mex 
ican  cascaroni  dance,  where  they  smash  egg-shells 
full  of  confetti  on  your  head,  and  you  comb 
sparks  of  colored  paper  out  of  your  hair  for  a 
week  afterward.  Seventeen  —  diary  for  the  year 
1898.  Where  did  you  ever  find  it  ?  One  week 
all  written  in  —  no,  I  wont  show  it  to  you,  I  'd 
be  ashamed  !  Eighteen  —  Trilby  locket.  Why 
did  n't  you  put  your  picture  inside  ?  Nineteen 
— '  Lucile.'  I  wonder  if  I  could  read  it  again  ? 
Twenty  —  side-combs.  Twenty-one  —  watch 
and  chain  —  almost  gold;  and  as  good  a  dia 
mond  ring  for  a  quarter  as  I  have  ever  seen. 
Twenty-two  —  opera-glasses.  You  struck  that 
right.  I  was  wild  over  Shakespeare  two  years 
ago.  Twenty-three  —  a  bank-book  with  a  dollar 
already  deposited  !  Now  you  'd  better  be  care 
ful  !  Twenty-four  —  oh,  Winton  —  a  mirror  ! 
That 's  a  very  pretty  compliment !  " 

"  How  kind  you  Ve  been  to  me !  How  could 
you  ever  have  thought  of  so  many  clever,  charm 
ing  things  ?  "  She  looked  up  with  delight. 

"  It  is  rather  difficult  to  think  up  presents  for 

[247] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

an  heiress."  he  said.  "  I  was  at  my  wits'  end  for 
an  idea.  You  have  everything  you  need  already. 
It 's  like  giving  a  jubilee  present  to  a  queen." 

"  That  fatal  ten  millions  of  mine ! "  she 
sighed.  "  They  have  stood  in  the  way  of  so 
many  things.  If  I  had  n't  been  able  to  do  a  few 
good  things  with  it,  I  would  say  that  I  hated 
my  money.  Ever  since  I  was  a  girl  it  has  at 
tracted  the  worst  men  to  me  and  kept  the  best 
men  away.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  have  wanted 
to  forget  that  I  was  rich,  and  to  live  with  com 
mon,  simple  people  who  would  accept  me  for 
what  I  am?  I  wish  you  did  n't  know  that  I  had 
money.  I  don't  believe  that  even  you  can  be 
unaffected  by  it.  One  hears  a  great  deal  about 
the  pride  of  wealth,  but  it 's  nothing  to  the  pride 
of  poverty,  which  hedges  its  self-respect  about 
with  such  ridiculous  reserves." 

"  You  're  right  —  I  know  that  well  enough." 
He  turned  away  from  her,  and  spoke  as  if  to 
himself.  "  Money  matters  —  there 's  no  getting 
around  it !  A  year  ago  I  would  have  laughed 
at  the  man  who  said  he  would  n't  dare  propose 
to  a  rich  girl ;  but  I  understand  it  better  now. 
There  's  an  insurmountable  barrier  as  strong  as 
the  color-line.  It  is  n't  right  or  reasonable,  but 
[248] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

it 's  there.  It 's  almost  a  question  of  caste.  I 
know  how  exasperated  you  must  feel  about  it 
sometimes,  but  I  realize  what  any  decent  man 
must  have  felt  about  it,  too.  The  poor  man 
won't  speak  and  the  rich  girl  can't." 

"  Not  unless  the  poor  man  drives  her  to  it," 
she  murmured. 

He  did  not  hear  her,  for  he  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  now,  continuing  his  so 
liloquy. 

"  Perhaps  a  man  who  has  never  had  any 
money  has  an  exaggerated  idea  of  its  value,  as 
the  self-made  man  overestimates  the  impor 
tance  of  a  college  degree,  but  the  idea  of  being 
dependent  on  his  wife  for  every  cent  must  hurt 
his  self-respect,  no  matter  how  willing  she  is  to 
support  him.  But  I  suppose  it 's  just  as  hard 
for  the  heiress  as  it  is  for  the  refined  pauper. 
It 's  a  case  of  the  irresistible  force  meeting  an 
immovable  body.  It 's  a  battle  of  pride." 

"  It  was  never  a  case  of  pride  with  me,"  said 
Miss  Million,  drawing  the  tip  of  her  forefinger 
thoughtfully  down  the  path  between  the  little 
trees.  "  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  be  perfectly  sim 
ple  with  my  friends,  and  they  with  me.  There 
should  be  no  question  of  pride  when  one  really 

C249] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

cares  for  another,  and  yet  I  have  no  doubt 
this  hateful  money  of  mine  will  eventually  stand 
in  the  way  of  my  marrying  the  man  I  love 
most." 

"  Oh,  you  may  fall  in  love  with  a  millionaire  ; 
in  that  case  it  will  be  all  right,"  Rayne  remarked 
a  little  bitterly. 

Miss  Million  began  to  rearrange  the  toy 
trees.  "  There  's  not  much  danger  of  that,"  she 
said.  "  Millionaires  don't  often  have  imagina 
tion."  She  put  her  finger  into  the  curling  per 
fumed  smoke  coming  from  the  chimney  of  the 
tiny  house.  "  They  seldom  have  sentiment." 
She  swung  the  little  hammock  on  the  front 
porch.  "I  never  knew  one  who  understood 
what  romance  meant."  She  straightened  the 
railroad  track,  and  gazed  wistfully  at  the  spot 
where  it  disappeared  between  the  portieres. 

"Yet  you  have  all  these,"  said  Rayne,  turn 
ing  round  to  her  suddenly. 

"  That 's  why  I  'm  so  lonely,"  she  answered. 

He  was  about  to  speak,  and  his  look  betrayed 
the  emotion  that  was  rising  in  him,  when  the 
Navajo  maid  appeared. 

"A  telegram  for  Mr.  Rayne,"  she  announced, 
handing  him  an  envelope  upon  a  tray. 
[250] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

He  asked  Miss  Million's  permission  to  read 
the  message  and  glanced  at  it.  "  My  Uncle  Leo 
pold  died  suddenly  this  afternoon.  I  must  go 
immediately,"  he  said. 

She  jumped  to  her  feet  and  came  towards 
him.  "  Oh,  is  it  anybody  you  were  very  fond 
of? "  she  asked,  holding  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  and  returned  her  frank  pressure. 
"  I  can't  be  really  sorry,  for  he  has  suffered  a 
good  deal  and  I  've  been  expecting  this ;  but  I 
was  fond  of  him.  He  was  the  only  relative  I 
had  in  the  world.  He  put  me  through  college, 
and  has  done  a  good  deal  for  me  beside." 

"He  has  no  family,  then  ?  I  hope  he  was  not 
quite  alone." 

"  There  's  only  Mary,  but  she  's  lived  with 
him  and  taken  care  of  him  for  so  long  that  she 
has  been  almost  the  same  as  a  daughter  to  him, 
though  he  never  legally  adopted  her.'* 

"If  there  's  anything  I  can  do — if  you  need 
any  money,  —  or  Mary  does,  —  I  hope  you  '11 
let  me  help  you.  Or  perhaps  your  uncle  was 
well  off? " 

"  Thank  you.  But  I  scarcely  think  there  '11 
be  any  necessity  for  that.  He  had  a  little 
money,  just  about  enough  to  live  on,  but  he 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

was  an  inveterate  speculator  and  he  always  lost. 
So  I  must  be  going,  Miss  Million,  and  I  '11 
remember  your  offer.  I  '11  be  back  as  soon  as 
I  can,  but  I  may  have  to  be  away  a  week." 

As  soon  as  he  had  left,  Miss  Million  seated 
herself  at  her  secretary  and  began  to  think. 
For  some  time  she  bit  the  end  of  her  penholder 
reflectively.  Then  she  reached  for  a  sheet  of 
paper  and  wrote  very  slowly  and  deliberately, 
pausing  at  intervals  to  consider  her  words. 
Then  she  placed  the  note  in  an  envelope,  which 
she  addressed  and  sealed. 

Next  she  arose  and  went  to  a  panel  in  the 
library,  which  she  opened,  disclosing  a  safe  built 
into  the  wall.  She  fingered  the  combination, 
pulled  open  the  great  door,  and  reached  for  a 
drawer  marked  "  Personal  Account."  It  was 
filled  with  neatly  tied  packets  of  Government 
bonds.  She  took  out  ten,  closed  the  safe,  and  car 
ried  the  securities  with  the  letter  to  her  room. 

•  ••••••• 

A  week  later,  Miss  Million  was  bustling 
about  with  childlike  excitement  in  her  great 
dining-hall.  She  was  girlishly  dressed  in  a  short 
gown  of  pongee  silk,  with  a  green  stock,  green 
belt,  and  embroidered  green  silk  stockings. 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

The  coquettish  red  heels  of  her  little  black 
slippers  added  almost  two  welcome  inches  to 
her  stature,  but  her  hair,  hanging  in  a  single 
long  braid,  compensated  for  the  effect.  The 
square-cut  neck  of  her  babyish  waist  showed  a 
close  string  of  dull  green  glass  beads,  and  on  the 
little  finger  of  her  left  hand  was  a  carnelian  ring. 
When  a  woman  wears  such  a  costume,  it  is  not 
done  without  premeditation  and  design. 

Margaret  Million  was,  apparently,  happy. 
She  added  her  voice  at  times  in  blithe,  trilling 
flights  to  the  strains  of  a  huge  music-box  which 
poured  out  a  stream  of  ringing,  tinkling  har 
mony  from  a  far  corner  of  the  great  room.  In 
the  centre  of  the  parquetry  floor  a  table,  long 
and  wide,  had  been  placed ;  upon  it,  a  marvel 
of  toy-engineering,  Winton  Rayne's  little  rail 
road  was  laid  out  with  a  complicated  system  of 
tracks  and  switches.  This  plaything  Miss  Mil 
lion  was  operating  with  enthusiasm.  She  was 
leaning,  tiptoe,  over  the  edge  of  the  table  to 
reach  a  yellow  tin  passenger-coach  as  Winton 
Rayne  entered. 

If  she  seemed  five  years  younger  in  her  cos 
tume  and  in  her  naive  enjoyment  of  the  play, 
something  in  his  carriage  and  manner  made  him 

[253] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

appear  older,  or  at  least,  more  dignified  and 
surer  of  himself,  as  if  he  had  lately  been  dis 
tinguished  by  some  honor  or  success.  He  was, 
however,  no  less  eagerly  affected  at  the  sight  of 
her.  She  ran  to  meet  him,  holding  out  both 
hands  in  welcome. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  to  see  you !  I  hope  everything 
is  all  right?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  although  there  have 
been  some  unexpected  developments  in  regard 
to  my  uncle's  estate  that  I  may  want  to  speak 
to  you  about." 

Her  serious  air  immediately  changed  to  a  gay 
frivolity. 

"Wait  till  after  dinner  for  that,"  she  said. 
"  You  Ve  just  been  elected  president  of  the 
N.  Y.  &  A.  Railroad.  I'm  General  Traffic 
Manager.  I  Ve  been  wanting  to  see  you  about 
locomotive  No.  999.  She  's  been  jumping  the 
track,  and  I  don't  know  whether  it 's  the  fault 
of  the  Motive  Power  or  the  Maintenance  of 
Way  Department.  Do  come  and  see  what 's 
the  matter." 

"  You  seem  to  have  learned  a  good  deal 
about  railroading  in  a  week,"  he  remarked. 

"  A  week !  "  she  repeated.  "  My  father 
[254] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

owned  six  roads,  I  think  I  ought  to  know 
something  about  it !  I  can  run  a  Mogul  my 
self,  and  I  Ve  done  it,  too  —  up  six  per  cent 
grades  and  round  ten  degree  curves  !  " 

As  she  chattered  on,  she  poured  a  little  water 
into  the  boiler,  and  filled  the  alcohol  lamp  of 
the  toy  locomotive  and  lighted  it. 

"  What  did  you  say  the  name  of  this  railroad 
was  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  New  York  &  Arcady,"  she  answered, 
stooping  over  the  little  engine  to  try  the  valve. 

He  looked  as  her  hard.  "  If  I  'm  president, 
then  I  suppose  I  have  a  free  pass  over  the  line." 

She  nodded,  still  keeping  her  head  down 
near  No.  999. 

"  I  always  wanted  to  go  to  Arcady  —  but  I 
don't  like  to  travel  alone." 

"  Look  out !  "    she  cried,  "  she  's   ready  to 

go!" 

She  gave  it  a  little  push  to  help  it  round  a 
reversed  curve,  and  No.  999  puffed  bravely 
into  the  main  track.  As  the  steam  pressure 
grew  stronger,  it  went  faster  and  faster,  lurch 
ing  drunkenly  round  the  curves  and  whizzing 
along  the  tangents,  Miss  Million  switching  the 
train  from  one  track  to  another  over  theisys- 

[255] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

tern.  As  they  stood  watching  it,  the  locomo 
tive  ran  into  an  open  switch,  jumped  the  track, 
and  plunged  over  upon  its  side.  The  alcohol, 
escaping  from  the  burner,  enveloped  the  engine 
with  blue  flames. 

"  Oh,  how  could  you,  999  !  "  cried  Miss 
Million. 

Winton  Rayne  ran  to  the  wreck  and  began 
to  blow  upon  it  with  all  his  strength.  "It's 
your  fault!"  he  gasped  between  puffs;  "  I  know 
just  how  it  feels  myself!  " 

"  Be  careful,  it  will  explode ! "  she  cried. 
He  snatched  a  rug  from  the  floor  and  threw  it 
over  the  conflagration.  Just  as  he  did  so,  a 
muffled  explosion  occurred  and  a  cloud  of  steam 
escaped  from  beneath  the  rug.  Then  No.  999 
lay  still. 

She  looked  at  him  with  mischief  in  her  eyes. 
"  Do  you  feel  like  that,  too  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  do,"  he  answered,  "do  you  know  why?" 

She  refused  to  take  him  seriously  even  then, 
and,  springing  upon  the  table,  sat  on  the  edge, 
swinging  her  feet. 

"  I  hope  I  do,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  Then  I  'm  going  to  explode  too,"  he  said, 
looking  hard  at  her.  "  I  Ve  been  in  love  with 
[256] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

you  for  six  months,  Margaret,  and  I  want  to 
know  if  you  care  for  me  at  all."  He  took  her 
hand  boldly. 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  goose !  Have  you 
only  just  discovered  it  ? "  Her  eyes  fell  and 
rose  to  his  again.  "  I  love  you  so  much,  dear, 
that  I  should  think  you  would  have  seen  it  in 
every  look  I  ever  gave  you." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  gave  her  a 
half-dozen  impetuous  kisses.  Then  he  held 
her  tightly,  gazing  into  her  eyes.  He  saw  them 
send  him  long,  steady  messages  of  tenderness. 
Then  her  lids  half  dropped,  her  lips  parted,  and 
two  entrancing  dimples  added  their  whimsical 
roguery  to  her  smile. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said, "  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  propose  to  me  on  my  birthday. 
Why  did  you  wait  for  a  whole,  long  week?" 

"  I  have  n't  proposed  yet,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  please  do,  quick  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  Even  though  I  have  n't  a  cent  to  my 
name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  "  she  cried,  putting  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"  But  I  'm  not  poor,  after  all,"  he  said.  "  My 

[257] 


A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny 

uncle  must  have  had  some  extraordinary  luck, 
for  five  millions  was  found  on  deposit  in  his 
name  on  the  day  after  he  died,  and  I  am  his 
sole  legal  heir.  I  am  not  as  rich  as  you,  dear, 
but  I  am  in  your  class,  and  that 's  why  I  Ve 
dared  to  tell  you  I  love  you. " 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  makes  any  difference  at 
all,"  she  said  wistfully.  "  You  're  the  same  man 
that  you  were  before,  are  n't  you  ?  I  almost 
think  I  liked  you  even  better  as  you  were  a 
week  ago." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  do  you  really  ? 
I  'd  like  to  believe  that ! " 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked  wonderingly. 

"  Because,"  he  spoke  slowly,  "  though  I  'm 
worth  five  millions  to-day,  to-morrow  I  '11  be 
as  poor  as  I  ever  was.  You  remember  I  told 
you  that  my  uncle  put  me  through  college. 
Well,  when  I  had  graduated,  he  said  to  me, 
f  I  Ve  done  all  I  can  for  you  now,  Winton,  and 
what  money  I  leave  I  want  to  go  to  Mary.' 
Strangely  enough,  he  died  without  making  a 
will,  and  so  of  course  I  am  in  honor  bound  to 
give  his  fortune  up  to  her.  I  intend  to  write 
and  tell  her  so  to-morrow.  I  waited  only  be 
cause  being  his  heir  seemed  to  give  me  some- 
[258] 


The  New  York  &  Arcady  R.  R. 

how  the  right  to  propose  to  you.  I  will  have 
been  a  millionaire  for  just  one  week." 

"  That 's  long  enough  to  win  me,"  she  said. 
"  I  hope  you  will  consider  your  legacy  well  in 
vested." 

"  I  expect  it  to  pay  the  biggest  dividends 
ever  heard  of,"  he  said  rapturously. 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  gilt-edged  security,"  she  laughed. 

"  Then  if  I  propose  to  you  now,  we  can  take 
the  N.  Y.  &  A.  to  Arcady?" 

"  As  soon  as  you  like,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  we  Ve  got  a  good  safe  road." 

She  nestled  closer  to  him,  and  laid  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  Winton,"  she  added,  "  if  we  're  really 
going  to  be  married,  I  think  perhaps  I  'd  bet 
ter  transfer  my  private  account  to  you  and  let 
you  manage  it  in  the  future.  I  've  made  a  rather 
rash  investment  this  week.  I  don't  call  it  ex 
actly  unsuccessful,  but  I  've  lost  quite  a  little 
money.  Do  you  mind  ?  " 


(<Cbe  fiibcrsibe 

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delineation,  and  of  inspiring  sentiment." 

New  York  Times. 

"  Its  merits  will  rank  it  among  the  few  sterling 
books  of  the  day."  Boston  Transcript. 

"A  book  of  rare  charm ., and  unusual  character  .  .  . 
fresh  and  sweet  in  tone  and  admirably  written 
throughout."  The  Outlook,  New  York. 


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The 

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The  love  story  of  an  Italian  countess  and  a  wealthy 
young  American  "  cub."  An  amusing  comedy. 

"It  is  a  readable,  pleasant  story,  sprinkled  with  criti 
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A  little  tragedy  enacted  amid  the  fragrance  of  piney 
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DAPHNE 

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Italian  for  an  American  girl,  Miss  Sherwood  has  given 
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and  some  graphic  pictures  of  Italian  woods,  moun 
tains,  and  sunsets."  Review  of  Revie^vs. 

"  The  story  of  their  love  is  simply  and  sweetly  told, 
and  with  so  exquisite  a  feeling  and  so  masterly  a  touch 
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